The Dark Realm
by Shadow of Light
Summary: The shattered remnants of the Black Gate spilled across the floor and vanished into nothingness. We'd won. Britannia was safe once more. Guess again. The Guardian had other plans. And I was at the middle of them...
1. Sword of Chaos

**

The Dark Realm

**

_Book One - Sword of Chaos_

By Shadow of Light Dragon, aka Laura Campbell

I felt carved in stone as the last echoes of the Guardian's mocking laughter faded. Forcing down the panic that threatened to claw it's way out of my throat, I reminded myself that I couldn't let my companions see the fear the Guardian had planted in my heart. 

Earth in danger? Impossible. 

It had to be. 

Anyway, I'd stopped him here with Rudyom's wand easily enough. On Earth, what could I do to him with a machine gun? 

Provided I'd ever see Earth again. 

"Avatar, art thou well?" 

I stubbornly locked my shaking legs and opened my mouth to say I was fine, but my eyes rested on my outstretched arm which still pointed the wand at the now empty Chaos Dais. It was trembling violently. 

"To hells with my pride," I muttered. "I'm only human." To the othersI replied in an infuriatingly weak voice, "I think - I think I feel a little faint." There. It was out. I let mental and physical exhaustion bear me to my knees beside the dead body of one of Batlin's followers. But not surrendering to grief. That could wait for when I was alone. 

Then Jaana was beside me. "It's no wonder," she remarked. "That gargoyle unleased a truly vicious blow to thine head." She pulled off the crystal-like helmet we'd fashioned from the meteorite on Ambrosia. As she inspected the lump swelling on my scalp, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. 

Vertigo... 

***

_*Yes, Avatar. Rest and heal. So that you are strong and able to face the perils before you. Pleasant...dreams...*_

***

I opened my eyes to pitch-blackness and automatically cast 'Glimmer.' The Linear spell sparked to life and a golden pinpoint of light hovered over my face. The familiar sight of the roof of my room at Castle Britannia greeted me. 

"Awake, I see, Avatar." 

"Lord British?" 

There was the sound of a chair being dragged forward and the Lord of Britannia's careworn face appeared in my dim light. 

"Forgive me for not rising, my lord," I said wryly and he chuckled. 

"Of course. How art thou feeling?" 

I sighed and put a hand to my head. "Better. I must have passed out in the Black Gate chamber." 

He grimaced above his silvering beard. "Actually, Jaana blew some sleeping powder into thy face and Shamino managed to use the virtue stones to bring thee back here." 

"What?" I sat up and regretted it instantly. "Why'd she do that?" I mumbled. 

"Because thou didst need it," he replied in a voice that encouraged no arguing. "Didst thou not feel the burn on thine arm or the sword gouge in thy leg or the bruises down thy back?" 

"I can _now_." 

"They're not half as bad as they were. Jaana and I have been working on them since yesterday." 

"Thank thee." 

"Thou'rt welcome. Now rest, Avatar. We can talk on the morrow." 

I closed my eyes, but couldn't sleep. Instead I lay still long enough for Lord British to leave the room, and then I got up. The dizziness returned so I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the white spots dancing in front of my eyes to vanish. 

It gave me time to send some curses I hadn't thought of in the Guardian's direction. 

There was no reply. 

Wearily I stood up, pulled on leather leggings and a clean, white tunic, soft boots and my Ankh. As I picked up the Blacksword - not because I feared danger in the castle but because I didn't really have any choice in the matter - my spell winked out, and the daemon jewel filled the room with its blue radiance. 

"What will you do now, Avatar?" it mocked quietly. "I can help you still." 

I strapped the huge scabbard across my back and slid the sword into it. "Sure you can," I replied, a little angrily. 

"Temper, Avatar. It is no fault of mine that you are stranded here." 

I hadn't tried the orb of the moons yet. I hadn't used it since the destruction of the Sphere Generator, which had consequently caused the deactivation of the moongates. The Time Lord's information of the orb's now powerless state to generate moongates had been accepted at face value. Maybe - hopefully - he was wrong and I could use it to go home. 

Eagerly, I went for the pack near my bed and rummaged through it, tossing bits and pieces aside. Reagents, spellbook, keys galore, the Fellowship medallion...I grabbed the last item up in a sudden storm of fury and hurled it to the carpeted floor without the satisfaction of a crash. Growling incoherently, I seized my reagents and incanted. The prepared lightning bolt flickered in my fist, awaiting release. I stared at the blue and white electricity that was reminiscent of the Blacksword's glowing gem and frowned in bewilderment. Hatred and fear such as I had not felt since the Shadowlords' time died in me and I aborted the spell, appalled. I was supposed to be the embodiment of the virtues! 

Finding the door, I quickly and silently left my room, got my bearings and took the closest ladder I found up to the battlements. The air was warm, the black, velvety night sky dotted with infinitesimal, diamond-like stars. Leaning against the parapet, I wondered rather morbidly which one belonged to Earth, or even if it still existed. 

It was only then that I realised what was wrong with me and there was no point in denying it any longer. 

"I am afraid." 

_*Poor Avatar! Poor, poor, Avatar!*_

Better to admit it now than let it eat at my soul like an acid slug eats through metal. 

_*You are stranded in Britannia...*_

A strangled sob escaped my lips and tears sheened my eyes, blurring the brilliance of the stars. 

_*Or you can step into the Black Gate and go home*_

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" I snarled. 

"Avatar?" inquired an uncertain voice. I turned to see Geoffrey, trailed by two guards. Their mail gleamed dully in the dim light. 

Shaking my head, I said, "Thy pardon, Geoffrey. I was not speaking to thee." 

The captain of the guard gestured to the two behind him to continue patrol then stepped towards me. "It pains me to see thee like this," he murmured. 

"Please don't." 

"And consider what the guards will think. Avatar, we know each other fairly well. I know as well as any what thou hast sacrificed...now please tell me. Dost thou believe the sacrifice worthy of the goal?" 

"I would do almost anything to keep Britannia safe from a being as evil as the Guardian seems to be." 

"And yet, many think thou hast abandoned thine own world to him." 

_*It is your choice.*_

I shied away from the Guardian's taunting voice. With a breath that shuddered in my lungs, I replied in a not-so-steady voice, "Never think I am without fear, my friend. I love Britannia, maybe more so than Earth, and I don't know what the future, or the Guardian, will bring either." I looked into his compassionate eyes. "If I'd left Britannia to the Guardian, never would I have forgiven myself. If I can find a way back to Earth to save it, I would take it, but _only_ if Britannia were safe." 

"I don't envy thee thy decisions, Avatar," he responded. "And I hope thou dost not come to regret them." 

I looked up at the serpent flag snapping from a pole atop a guard tower in the night breeze. Proud, almost _alive_ in its sinuous undulations. 

Alive. 

To Geoffrey, I said, "No." 

_Never._

***

Despite my gloomy attitude, the next day dawned bright and clear. I hadn't returned to my rooms, being in no mood to sleep. After Geoffrey had left, the early morning had passed silently and uneventfully. I'd got so used to being careful and watching my back all the time in the past weeks, I'd almost forgotten the meaning of peace. 

I looked at the perfect sunrise with an irrational sense of betrayal and wound the Ankh's chain around one finger. My head throbbed, my leg tingled painfully and my arm felt numb from shoulder to elbow. 

"And how are you feeling this fine morning, Guardian?" I murmured. "Trapped in the Void, perhaps, or plotting revenge? Just who the hell are you?" 

The reply was so sudden, I wondered if I'd just imagined or remembered it. 

_*...your master!*_

Shrugging, I looked down on Britain and pondered the whereabouts of Batlin. What would Lord British do about the Fellowship - the Guardian's cult of followers? Then there was still the problem of the human and gargoyle relationship, which didn't look like it would end any time soon. 

Time passed unnoticed as I watched light glint off the rooftops of the buildings below, the shadows begin to shorten and the sun climb higher into the azure sky. Soft footsteps behind me heralded another visitor. 

"Yes?" I sighed. 

Their pace quickened and I half-turned, puzzled. Pain exploded in my side and all I could think of for a sickening instant, was what could have happened had I not have turned. 

I'd instinctively drawn the Blacksword and taken a defensive stance to face my unknown assailant. A boy. A boy, who couldn't possibly be older than ten years, gaped at me with sky-blue eyes then turned tail and dashed for a stairwell, his blond curls bouncing. I cursed as I wrenched the dagger from my flesh and, when my vision cleared again, ran after him. Fortunately, I was faster. 

My vices didn't include slaughtering children - not even little boys who tried to stick sharp objects between my ribs - so I stood over him with the imposing form of my sword inches from his chest and glowered. 

It occurred to me that the scene might look slightly ridiculous. 

"Stay thine hand, Avatar!" shouted a guard. She came closer, warily, halberd at the ready. "What art thou doing?" I gestured at my side with the bloodied dagger; the silent testimony of the boy's scarlet hands impressing itself on the guard instantly. 

"What wouldst thou have me do?" she asked, frowning. 

"I wish to speak with him first. Boy, why didst thou do this thing?" 

"Because of thee," the child shouted. "We no longer hear the Inner Voice!" 

The guard reached for the boy who flinched away, but she seized the necklace he wore and pulled it from his shirt. "By the Virtues," she muttered. "Did the Fellowship recruit children, milady?" 

I didn't doubt the Guardian would stoop to manipulating the young. I was sure he had before in Paws. "It appears to be so," I replied. "Are there others who think like thee?" I asked of the boy. 

"We all do!" 

"Who are 'we'?" I demanded sharply. 

He looked at me as if I were stupid. "The Fellowship, of course!" 

I wondered if any of my companions had salvaged the Cube Prism from the wreckage of the Black Gate. Then I'd get the truth out of this little fiend. "Guard, please take this would-be assassin to the brig. I'll take word to our liege." 

"Yes, milady. Come along, boy!" 

I waited for the two to leave before trying to sheath the Blacksword. My hands were shaking so badly I missed twice. Then I hastily mixed some reagents and cast a spell on myself. One I sorely needed. 

"Vas Mani!" 

The dripping wound sealed as my magic knit it together. Then psychic weariness set in again and I sat down at the top of the stairs, wiping blood on my leggings unselfconsciously. 

"Avatar?" 

Would I have no peace this morning? I looked down at Iolo. The old bard took stock of my appearance and took the first few steps, eyes widening. 

"What happened to _thee_?" 

"Someone tried to kill me." I shrugged indifferently. There wasn't anything unusual about it, after all. More commonly though, it was some_thing_. 

"Here? In Castle Britannia?" His tone was incredulous. 

"Yes, Iolo, here in Castle Britannia." I looked at his haggard face. "What's wrong?" 

His greying head bowed and he sighed in sorrow. "Spark died last night." 

My heart gave a sick, sideways lurch and I raised myself slightly. "Oh, by Infinity, no!" I stared at him in disbelief. "_How_?" 

"He took a serious wound to his head during the battle. Jaana caught it in time...she said he should not have died! She's beside herself. There hath been so much for her, Nystul and Lord British to do." 

I belatedly noticed the bulge of bandages pressing out from beneath Iolo's brown shirt. "I can resurrect him!" 

Iolo shook his head. "Lord British already tried. It's too late. His spirit hath departed." 

The boy who had attacked me deserved death more than Spark had. I wanted so much to reverse their places...but I couldn't. "Please, take me to him." 

Iolo nodded his assent. 

***

Sightless eyes, lank hair, cold flesh...tears stung my eyes. Spark had been so young, so much the boy, always finding some way to lighten the spirits of the travellers - usually involving some prank on Iolo, or more often, Dupre. I knew such thoughts would eventually make me smile. 

"Avatar? What is it?" Jaana's subdued voice asked. 

"I was thinking of when we all went to the Bath House at Buccaneers' Den," I answered with a small grin. "Remember how Spark tried to convince the doorman he was old enough to enter?" 

Iolo made a soft sound and turned away. 

Jaana rallied with a smile. "That young braggart reminded me of a certain knight when _he_ was younger." 

"I had thought he might." 

Jaana rubbed her eyes. "I think I need some sleep." 

I picked up a nearby jar of sleeping powder suggestively and she rolled her eyes skywards. 

"Who told thee?" 

"Lord British." 

"I think I can manage on mine own," she said and left. 

I pulled the white sheet up to Spark's neck, closed his eyes gently, and then tucked it over his head. "Tell me, Iolo," I said steadily. "How fare the others? How are Shamino, Dupre and Tseramed?" 

The bard sighed deeply. "Fine, Avatar. Fine." 

"I don't believe you." 

"_Thou_ shouldst be in bed rest-" 

"I have spent enough time on myself! Let me help someone!" 

"Then help me," a new voice said from the door. 

I turned and bowed with Iolo. "My lord," we both said. 

Lord British gazed at the silk-shrouded form on the bed and rubbed a hand over his own face with a sigh. "Iolo, Avatar, I would speak with both of ye." 

We bowed again and followed him to his private chambers. He gestured for us to sit. 

"Avatar," he began. "Every time thou hast come to Britannia, thou hast battled evil, then departed when thou hadst triumphed. But thou didst always bemoan the fact - to me at least, - that thou didst never have the chance to see Britannia when it was at peace." 

Was he suggesting a holiday? 

"The Fellowship is still at large. Not all its members are peaceful." 

I wondered if he already knew about the attempt on my life. "What are you advising, Richard?" 

"Until now, thou wert absent from Britannia for two hundred years! Thou art a legend to almost all who live - a myth, a bedtime story. Avatar...make thyself known again! Become the living hero children only read about." He paused. "Mayhap there is a reason why thou art still here. Thy quest is not over yet and it won't be until thou canst return to Earth." 

Nope, no vacation here. A heroine's work is never done. 

"And if thou wantest to do something so much...while thou'rt at finding a way home, try to find Batlin." 

Of course! The leader of the Fellowship had escaped me before, but he wouldn't this time. I would make him pay for Spark's death..._no_! What was I thinking? Revenge wasn't one of the Virtues! 

I was taking too long to answer. 

"Guards have already searched the Fellowship hall here in Britain," said Lord British sombrely. "But the other halls remain, as does the 'base,' as thou didst call is, on the Isle of the Avatar." 

"Where should I start looking?" I asked softly. 

The King was looking at the blood-soaked rent in my clothes. "Methinks thou shouldst take thy companions with thee." 

How humiliating. Did I seem so helpless to him? "But, my lord - " 

Iolo coughed and cleared his throat meaningfully. "I shall travel with the Avatar if it is needful. Even if it is not," he added pointedly. 

I sighed in exasperation and grinned, surrendering. "Fine, then. That means I'll be lost in Dupre's shadow when it comes to swordplay, ignored when it comes to Iolo's archery and a follower when Shamino points out landmarks or leads us through some stinking swamp!" 

"And a patient when Jaana decides thou needest healing," remarked Lord British, his eyes twinkling. 

I chuckled. "There _had_ to be a catch." I sobered. "My lord...about Spark..." 

His face clouded. "Yes?" 

"I must try for myself." 

"Elora, dost thou doubt mine abilities?" he asked gently. 

"Never, Richard! I just feel that...I...must try. He was my responsibility." 

"Where would he go if he lived?" asked the King. "His father was murdered by the Fellowship and he had no other family...what had he left?" 

"Wouldst thou turn away a hero who fought by my side?" I half-snarled. "Thy pardon, my lord." 

He sighed. "Forgiven." 

Iolo said, "Avatar, Spark's soul hath departed. If thou wert to bring him back, would he thank thee?" 

"I will speak with him first, then." 

Both men looked uncomfortable at the prospect of a Seance. I felt the same...but was determined. 

"If thy plan fails, wilt thou subside?" demanded Lord British. 

I bowed my head. "Yes, my lord." 

He sighed again and I was shocked to realise how old he looked. Physically and emotionally. "Very well. After sunset, then. For now, breakfast should be ready in the Great Hall. Ye two go on, I have lost mine appetite." 

Since his mood was already bad, I told him about the origin of the hole in my shirt. He covered his eyes and I wondered if he wept. But when his head rose, his eyes were dry and his face set. 

"I shall tend to that matter. Go eat. Please." 

***

"Isn't that a bit heavy for breakfast?" Iolo asked Dupre. 

The knight lifted his third tankard and drank deeply. "This is for all the years Spark will never have an ale." 

"Getting drunk in his memory sounds like a good idea," murmured Shamino as Iolo and I sat opposite them at the small table. 

"Thou mistakest mine intentions," Dupre responded. He took another swallow then elaborated, "To _block out_ the memories." 

I peered at his stone-cold-sober eyes and said, "Is it working?" when what I really wanted to ask was, "May I join thee?" 

Dupre put down the empty tankard with a perfectly steady hand. "No. Not yet, anyway." 

I took a fresh bread roll from the plate on the table and half-heartedly smeared some butter on it. What I would have given for a bowl of cereal... 

"Elora here is intending to conduct a seance tonight," Iolo told the other two in a low voice. "She thinks Spark can be saved." 

"A noble hope," Dupre intoned, raising his refilled tankard. "Good fortune to the Avatar! May she succeed!" 

Dupre was rarely like this, even when upset. 

"After that, we're going after Batlin," finished Iolo. 

Dupre's eyes sparked and he fingered his moustache. For a minute, I thought he'd jump up and urge us to stop talking and get moving...but the light died and he went for the ale decanter again. "When?" he asked disinterestedly. 

"Tomorrow morning, we think." 

Shamino folded his hands on the table. "Who is going with thee?" he asked me. 

"Iolo, Dupre and you, if it you wish," I replied. 

Shamino nodded acceptance. "Jaana and Tseramed?" 

"Jaana is resting, so I'll ask her later. As for Iolo's greatest fan..." I grinned at the glowering bard. "When he comes in I'll ask." 

We sat in silence a few minutes, watching as the castle occupants entered to take seats. I found myself staring at the empty chairs behind the high table. Lord British's, Dupre's, mine... "Dupre? Will you be coming with us?" I asked the knight suddenly. 

He stared unblinking into his tankard, but his voice was crisp, unslurred. "Of course, Avatar," as if he were surprised I doubted it. 

"Any ideas where to look first?" Shamino asked. 

"We could ask the wisps," suggested Iolo dubiously. 

I looked at him in disbelief. "Do you remember what happened last time we did that?" I hissed. "That mage in New Magincia was killed by Batlin at the Guardian's command...because we showed the wisps information which _they_ showed the Guardian, who decided it was too close to the truth for comfort!" 

"I was there, Avatar," Iolo reminded me. "I know the risk. He died, but the information the wisps gave thee in return convinced Lord British to dismantle the Fellowship!" His voice rose. "Thou didst the right thing! One death more than balances all the deaths that information hath prevented!" 

Another death I blamed myself for. Returning the book to New Magincia, we had entered the mage's house and I'd heard the Guardian. 

_*Thank you for the information in the book, Avatar. It was most interesting!*_

Inside...a murder. The mage, dead - ritually gutted. That death had shaken me more than the others I'd seen. Stumbling against a table, I'd turned away and stared into the crystal ball resting there. 

To see a mage being hacked at by Fellowship members. Had one looked like Batlin? 

"The least we can do is ask them and hear the price," Iolo was saying. "And _then_ decide." 

Shamino backed me. "Showing them a book sounded harmless. But it was deadly." 

"The risk is too great," I added. "And a journey into the Deep Forest will waste our time." 

Dupre refilled his tankard and stared at the empty jug. 

"They will _know_!" insisted Iolo. 

"And who will pay the price for the knowledge?" I asked angrily. 

"We don't even know what the price is!" 

Conversation paused as Tseramed entered, garbed in green, his left arm in a sling. He drew a chair up to the table we were sharing and helped himself to some cheese. 

"How?" I asked him, indicating his arm. 

"Silliest thing, I should have seen it coming," Tseramed replied. "It's not enough to blame it on magic." He looked curiously at Dupre. "What's wrong?" 

"Spark died," the knight replied simply, before downing his last drop of ale. 

The kitchen hand, Charles, wordlessly approached the table, collected the empty pitcher, and placed a full jug on the table before leaving again. 

I took the jug by the handle and deliberately moved it away from Dupre's side of the table. He looked at me resentfully. 

"If thou'rt not using the ale, Avatar, pass it here, please," he said. 

"You've had enough," I replied bluntly. "We will need you capable tomorrow." 

Incredibly, he still looked sober as he stood, perfectly balanced. "I have the whole day to recover," he said coldly. "Excuse me." 

More than likely, he'd head off to his quarters and the dozen or so bottles of ale he kept there. "Sit down, Dupre," I ordered in my most commanding voice. 

He hesitated, then obeyed. I was the Avatar, after all. "And don't glare at me! What by Dungeon Doom is wrong with you?" 

An expression came over Dupre's face as if he were about to admit to something he didn't want to. "I can hear the Guardian." 

I swore silently. What did he want _now_? "And?" 

He shook his head. "Please, I don't want to speak his words." 

"So thou art also drinking to block out his voice?" asked Tseramed. 

"Yes. A few more mugs should do it. Please, Avatar..." 

Never had I seen Dupre look so desperate. I had to pass the drink back to him. "Just don't let the Guardian make you drink yourself to death," I told him, allowing a hint of worry into my voice. 

Surprisingly, Dupre grinned. "Remember who thou art speaking to, Elora," he answered. "I am very experienced in this kind of thing." 

"Almost as good as he is at swordplay," teased Shamino. 

Dupre gave a complex snort. 

"Ah, Dupre, I keep meaning to ask thee...where is the best place to buy the best quality ale?" asked Iolo. 

Dupre pursed his lips. "I still have to finish my surveys of the taverns, but so far..." then he said in a certain voice, "Jhelom." 

"Well then," Iolo beamed and rubbed his hands. "After we find Batlin, let's sail over there and thou canst buy me the drink owed me!" 

Dupre's eyebrows shot up. "What?" he exclaimed. 

"Thou didst bet that there was no such thing as a talking horse! I haven't claimed our wager yet." 

I choked on laughter and Shamino - who had a mouthful of food - went into a fit of coughing while Tseramed thumped him on the back with his good arm. 

Dupre gaped at Iolo. "Smith? That _creature_ never spoke a word of sense!" he cried. "He's in league with Chuckles the Jester!" 

"To whom we spoke for two solid hours," put in Shamino. 

"And who sent us from town to town on a wild goose chase," I added. 

"Not to mention when Smith told us to 'find the sandalwood box Lord British keeps his orb in before going to find him'..._after_ we'd already found him," agreed Shamino. 

"And that gibberish he spouted about Martians!" finished Dupre. 

Iolo looked injured and sniffed. "Our barter was that he could talk." 

Dupre scowled at him. 

"Actually, Dupre," I said. "The Martian stuff might have been helpful had he told me sooner." 

"What is a Martian?" asked Tseramed. 

I launched into a greatly embellished story about how I'd gone to Mars in the distant past. They found the ideas of time travel, space travel and Dream Machines a bit too unbelievable. I made a mental note to make the part where I single-handedly flattened a horde of creeping cacti with a sabre sound more plausible. _And_ the part... 

"The Shadowlords living in each of us," said Shamino is his quiet voice. "Not a pleasant thought." 

He was referring to when I had activated the Dream Machines and gone into the Dreamworld. There I had met beings I had thought long gone: the Shadowlords. The experience had not been pleasant. The whole telling had taken a good couple of hours. I hadn't thought I was that good a storyteller. 

"Their essences, perhaps," corrected Iolo. "When I think of confronting them, speaking to them...even in my mind..." 

"But I suppose we deal with them every day," Shamino added. "The Shadowlords were just visible forms for our less admirable qualities. Hatred, Falsehood and Cowardice still exist, as much as we might like to deny it." 

Dupre leaned back in his chair. "Blackthorn's Age," he said. "Not a good time for anyone. We all had to live in hiding remember? I in Bordermarch with Sentri..." 

"I in the Deep Forest," nodded Iolo. "Though it's become my home more than a hidey-hole." 

"And I wherever the winds blew me," said Shamino. "Usually on an errand for Elora's companions." 

I smiled and extracted my lucky coin from a trouser pocket. "Remember this?" 

Shamino stared at it in amazement. On its silver surface was the design found on the Codex of Ultimate Wisdom. "That's the magic coin I had minted to summon thee back to Britannia!" he exclaimed. 

"The very same." I rubbed a finger over the star and circles before replacing the talisman. "What happened to the man you commissioned to make it? Last I saw he was hiding in a lighthouse!" 

"It hath been centuries for us, Elora," Iolo reminded me. "But at that time, after thy departure, Lord British set all right again. People who helped thee were rewarded." 

"What about Saduj?" I'd made the connection with his name a long time ago, but had never found the time to ask. 'Saduj' was 'Judas' spelled backwards. The name of a traitor. 

"The Oppression guy pretending to be a gardener?" Shamino guessed. 

"Snooping around Lord British's room every night," Iolo added. 

"I thought it strange that thou didst ask him to join us, Avatar," remarked Dupre. 

"I thought I might be able to keep an eye on him," I told them. "I didn't know he'd try to stick a sword between my shoulder blades at the earliest opportunity." 

"After thou told him to leave, we never found him again," Iolo shrugged. "But he's long dead, in any case." 

"You're probably right," I said casually. With mild surprise, I noticed Dupre hadn't touched the ale that had been sitting on the table for over two hours now. It appeared that the talking was keeping his mouth - and mind - busy. 

"Thou seemest obsessed with the time of the Shadowlords today, for some reason, Elora," Iolo continued. "Is something amiss?" 

Something _was_ nagging at the back of my mind. "There is something," I confirmed. "But I don't know what it is." 

My companions exchanged glances. They were used to my 'hunches' and the fact that they were usually important and almost always right. They also knew how to poke me in the right direction. 

"Connected to the Shadowlords?" suggested Shamino. 

"Not sure. Maybe." 

"Blackthorn?" guessed Dupre. 

"Yes!" 

A pause. 

"Something he did?" asked Iolo. 

"No." 

"Owned?" 

"I think so." 

The Great Hall was starting to get noisy as more and more people came in. Most were literally singing my praises. One particularly vocal drunk - even at this hour - shouted out, "Avat - urrrpp - ar!" I looked over my shoulder and my forehead connected with the crosshilt of the Blacksword. 

"Art thou all right?" asked Tseramed, for I was staring straight at the sword without even blinking. 

A sword. I tried to shake the dizziness from my head. Over and over the words repeated almost of their own accord. A sword. 

"Avatar, what is it?" 

"A sword," I replied, trying to find the meaning of my words. 

"Well, we know _that_," retorted Dupre. "Why are thou staring at it?" 

I forced myself to keep looking. A few more seconds and I'd have it. "The sword...in Blackthorn's Palace!" 

Iolo, Shamino and Dupre drew in their breaths sharply. "The Sword of Chaos?" asked the former. 

"That's the one!" 

"Well, what about it?" 

I pried my eyes from the black hilt and gazed at the middle of the table instead. We had found the Chaos Sword in Blackthorn's Palace, concealed behind a maze of magically locked doors. Beautifully balanced, black as midnight and studded with diamonds up the centre of the blade such that it had looked like a star-strewn night sky. I had taken the blade and we'd left before being discovered. No one had gainsaid my decision to take the weapon. Everyone had felt the fey power emanating from it. Nothing had happened until we were attacked later by a band of orcs. The prospect of a fight had sung through my blood and I'd drawn the Chaos Sword...my mind and body subject to the will of another. I had then turned on my friends and launched myself at them with a speed that almost killed Shamino and greatly wounded Geoffrey. It had taken the combined magics of Mariah and Jaana to immobilise me so that the threat of the orcs could be stopped before we were all slain. Then the battle-frenzy had fallen from my mind and I'd returned to normal, though I could remember everything I'd done. 

I told all this to Dupre and Tseramed, as neither had been present at the time, though the knight knew of the blade's existence. 

"I was loath to leave such a weapon behind for anyone to pick up," I concluded. "But now that I think about it, I know what it's made of. Blackrock." 

"Art thou certain?" demanded Iolo. 

"After carrying the Blacksword, yes, I am." In fact, only the hilt of the Blacksword was made of Blackrock. How anyone could make a blade from the strange material was beyond me, but I somehow _knew_ that the Sword of Chaos was Blackrock from pommel to point. "Now, tell me if you remember. Where were all the things we found put after I left Britannia that time?" 

Dupre pushed himself to his feet and planted both fists on the table. "Why is this important?" 

Shamino had made the connection. "Batlin and the Guardian have seen how powerful the Blacksword it. We didn't examine the Chaos Sword so we don't know its limits. The Guardian may send Batlin to find it." 

"But how would either know the sword even exists?" 

I spoke up. "Dupre, I read the Book of the Fellowship cover to cover. Batlin is no mean scholar or loremaster. He may know of the sword, obscure though its origins may be." 

"'Obscure'?" echoed the knight incredulously. "Thou didst only know about it after finding it! How will Batlin find it?" 

"I have a feeling that he and the Guardian can...trace Blackrock," I replied slowly. "We know that but for Rudyom's wand, that stuff is indestructible. If it's in Britannia and he's looking for it, Batlin will find it." 

Dupre swore and sat down. An instant later, "Forgive me. I know not why, but just hearing the name, 'Sword of Chaos', seemed to strike an off-key chord in me." 

Iolo raised an eyebrow at the musical metaphor but said nothing about it. Instead, "For all I know, it was left in the Mirror Prison the Shadowlords trapped Lord British in." 

Shamino blinked as if awakening. "That's exactly where it is! I remember asking Lord British about it - after Elora left but before we did - and he said it would probably be safe leaving it in the Prison!" 

"Yes!" agreed Iolo, nodding. "I remember!" 

"Wasn't the Dungeon Doom destroyed?" asked Tseramed. 

"That may be," responded Iolo. "But the Prison was set apart in the Ethereal Void, probably so the Shadowlords could travel there more easily." 

"But how will we get in, let alone Batlin?" 

We were silent a minute. 

"The Mirror," I said finally. More silence greeted my idea and I regarded each of my friends in turn. "We don't know if the dungeon is destroyed, but the Mirror is a gateway that wasn't closed. If it is now, fine. But _we don't know_." I stressed the words and Dupre lowered his gaze. "We have to be sure, and the only way to do that..." I took a deep breath. "We're going back to Dungeon Doom." 

***

I watched the last golden rays of the sun vanish behind the western mountains and waited for the fiery light staining the sky to fade...pink, royal violet, dark blue, black. Below, the quiet ritual of street lamps being lit commenced. The serenity of the ordinary, everyday task usually soothed me, showed me that some things continued uninterrupted despite the troubled times. But tonight each glowing lamp reminded me of the eyes of the Guardian. I shut the window and curtains then turned and gestured with the words, "In Vas Flam." 

Every candle sprang to life sending their light over me, the few present and Spark. I didn't look at the expressions on faces turned towards me, but turned all my attention to that which I knew I could do. 

"Let the Seance begin," I said softly. Taking up the prepared reagents, I first summoned Spark's spirit. "Kal Corp Mani!" 

The flames trembled as if stirred by a breeze and a luminous form coalesced above the body of Spark, misty and indistinct. 

"Kal Wis Corp!" 

The ghost turned to me and I saw familiar features, though strangely lacking, as if I was looking at him through water and all the lines and curves were blurred. 

"Avatar, why am I here again?" Spark's voice seemed to echo slightly and as he fell silent, I listened to the faint echoes. A chilling feeling came over me as I tried to hear where the echoes ended and I turned my mind back to the ghost. "Am I alive?" 

"No, Spark, I summoned thee to ask if thou wishest to live." 

"Is Batlin dead yet?" 

"No, he escaped. But we stopped the Guardian!" 

The ghost looked down at his own corpse. "Batlin did this to me and my father. I want to get him back." 

"Then I can resurrect you?" I asked quickly. 

"Yes!" 

I seized the readied spell and opened my mouth...Spark's ghost started to fade. 

"Avatar! Help me! Something's pulling..." 

I heard a roaring sound like a hurricane had suddenly centred in the room we stood in. Reaction from the others showed me that they could hear it too, and I shouted out the resurrection spell as fast as I dared, casting the reagents across Spark's body which jerked in response. 

Abruptly, the boy's eyes opened - and he screamed. 

Something stabbed from one side of my mind to the other as the spell was disrupted and I fell to my knees, clutching my head. Dimly, I saw Lord British and Nystul trying to dispel the magic, but the channel between Spark and I was open and my life started to flow to his lifelessness, filling it. 

Only Spark wasn't keeping it. Someone else had tapped my lifeline. 

_*I promise I will use your gift well, Avatar.*_

Had the Guardian's voice come from Spark's lips? 

The pain doubled and my scream echoed Spark's. I couldn't stop the spell! He was draining me like Dupre drained an ale bottle until not even a drop remained. I was dying. 

A shadow fell over me and I looked up uncomprehendingly at Dupre. The knight drew back his fist and I suddenly felt it connect with my jaw. 

Surcease. 

***

"...whole idea about the Chaos Sword is far fetched." 

"She's determined to find it." 

"If only she had proof - anything that made her conclusion more logical." 

"If we found proof, I'd consider it a trap. Like Dungeon Destard." 

I wondered if I should open my eyes. 

"In which case the Guardian could have planted this whole idea into her mind to start off with! It could still be a trap. I wholeheartedly approve of getting Elora's mind off what has been happening of late and her inability to return home, but this...this quest back into Doom is insanity." 

"And without the mystic arms and armour - suicide." 

"But with weapons as we have today...will those ones be necessary?" 

"I know not, my liege." There was a heavy sigh. "I know not. But if she _is_ correct in all her assumptions, how do we bring the sword back without it making us kill each other?" 

"How _thou_ wouldst get back is the problem. With the orb disabled, there is no way out of the Prison short of casting Kal Lor - and I'm not entirely sure _that_ would work." There was a pause. "Which also makes me doubt the teleportation properties of the Virtue stones as an alternative. As for the sword, if it _is_ Blackrock, thou canst use Rudyom's wand to destroy it." 

"What effect would the sword have on Batlin, I wonder?" 

Sleep... 

***

No one was talking when I awoke the second time. I listened to the quiet, my breathing, the regular, steady beat of my heart. My eyes opened to darkness. What had gone wrong with the spell? 

Ah, yes. The Guardian. Always the Guardian. I had given him the life force meant for Spark. I frowned. The original spell had been of my own casting, but I'd been unable - incapable? - of terminating it. If not for Dupre's quick intervention... 

_*I suppose you could say you couldn't consciously stop it,*_ mocked the familiar Voice. 

"What do you want of me?" 

_*I want _you_.*_

Me? "Why?" 

_*Think of the power that could be thine.*_

"I thought you'd decided you want me dead." 

_*You are a prize fit for the taking, Avatar. Your talents are wasted on this paltry world. I can give you command over legions, rule over galaxies.*_

"Your ways are not mine." 

_*No? Had everyone followed the Fellowship philosophy, everyone would have been happy.*_ The Voice seemed to caress the last word. 

"But they didn't, Guardian," I replied. "No more than they do the Virtues." 

_*My way is better.*_

"Your way?" I kept my voice low as seething fury tried to elevate it. "I saw _your way_ within five minutes of my arrival in Trinsic, and it was nailed to a floor and ripped apart!" 

A heartbeat of silence. _*Thus, all who oppose me.*_

The darkness lifted... 

***

"She's awake!" 

Lord British's face appeared before my eyes. "Elora?" 

I had to smile at the worry in his features. "Richard." 

Jaana's voice said, "She should be well enough to sit up." 

My vision swam as I was helped into a sitting position but it passed quickly. It was light outside and I was in my own room in the castle. 

"How art thou feeling?" the healer asked intently. 

"Everyone's been asking me the same thing over and over these last few days," I observed wryly. "I'm fine, all things considered." I stretched my arms carefully and noticed the green glint of a regeneration ring on each hand. "And now I see why." 

"We had almost all Britain torn apart to find these rings," Jaana said. "Even the bruise Sir Dupre gave thee is gone. I pronounce thee fit to get out of bed!" 

I sniffed loftily. "Thank thee, milady." 

"I would speak to thee after breakfast, Avatar," the King said before he and Jaana left me alone. I noticed that he had used the word _to_ instead of _with_. Seemed like a lecture was coming my way. 

After dressing, I made a relatively feeble effort to clean the area where I'd been excavating my backpack earlier. Scrolls and Virtue Stones were strewn about - the red stone had actually landed on my desk where it had upset several books - and some reagents had been mashed into the floor rugs. 

I shrugged and gave up. This could wait. As I crossed my room to the door, I whispered, "Well, Guardian, what surprises will you gift me with today, I wonder?" 

***

The Great Hall was starting to empty by the time I got there, but the table my companions shared was still full except for one chair. I crossed over and pulled it back to sit down...only to fall back in astonishment as Spark crawled out from under the table holding a fork. 

"Oh, by Infinity, I'm dreaming!" I blurted. 

"Hey," Spark complained. "Get thine own chair!" 

The others were laughing at the foolish grin I knew had spread over my face. 

"You're alive," I managed. 

"Thanks to thee!" Spark agreed, hugging my legs. "And I _do_ thank thee, Elora." 

"Thou art welcome," I stammered before meeting Jaana's eyes. "But...I felt sure that I'd failed!" 

She nodded. "Later, Lord British and I tried thy spell again and resurrected Spark properly." 

"But they would not have tried if not for thee," smiled Spark. "I owe thee my life! Where are we going to look for Batlin first?" 

_In a Hell we're all likely to die in before reaching our goal,_ I thought. "Thou'rt coming, I suppose?" 

Spark took his seat back and scoffed. "Of course I am! Thou wouldst wither away and die in the company of these bores - excepting Lady Jaana." 

The healer nodded graciously as the four men sputtered in indignation. Spark grinned and looked back at me condescendingly. "See? Isn't that a sight to amuse!" 

I rolled my eyes theatrically. "Good to see thou hast not changed!" Pulling up another chair, I grabbed an apple and bit into it. 

"So? Where are we going?" 

The only other person who met my eyes was Jaana. Did she know yet? I bit my lip as last night's overheard conversation came to mind. "The Deep Forest," I said, earning blank stares from Iolo and Tseramed, a confused gaze from Dupre and a raised eyebrow from Shamino. "We'll ask the wisps and see what happens." 

"I have the emps' whistle in my bag still, I think!" Spark said. 

"Don't forget it. We'll need it to call the wisps to us. Will you be ready to leave today?" 

"He'll be fine," replied Jaana. 

"The Virtue stone of Justice is Marked for the wisps' tower," said Shamino. "Depending on what the wisps ask of us, we may get this over with quite quickly." 

I put the apple core down and took a roll. "'Depending on what they ask of us,'" I echoed. 

***

When I told Lord British about the change of plans, he nodded approval and said he'd talk to me when we returned instead of now, then wished me luck. 

The companions gathered at the fountain in the courtyard. Only Dupre and I felt the need to encase ourselves in steel, though no trouble was anticipated. Spark wore the whistle on a string around his neck, Shamino carried the virtue stones for me, Jaana had her satchel of medical supplies, I had the reagents and spellbook...I went over everything again and nodded. We were ready. 

"Everyone ready?" Why had I asked that? 

We all gathered around the stone and I cast 'Recall'. The stone flared with white and blue incandescence, distorting perceptions and sensations, extending the mind and physical form across the length and breadth of the land...a brush against ether...the feeling of rushing backwards, light diminishes, clarity returns definition and form sculpts the landscape into new patterns. 

A stone tower surrounded by a sea of green trees and crowned with glittering blue globes of brilliance. 

I nodded to Spark and the boy passed me the whistle, which I blew. 

One of the blue wisps descended and hovered before my eyes. Before it could telepath anything... 

"I need information on the whereabouts of Batlin of Britain, leader of the Fellowship, servant of the Guardian." 

The wisp glowed. "What would 'you' give in exchange for this knowledge?" The melodious voice sounded in my head, only I could hear it. 

"What would you ask of me and who wants it?" If the Guardian wanted what I had to give them... 

"Entity 'Guardian' will exchange 'your' desired information for a scan of 'your' mind." 

You've got to be kidding. "What for? Memories?" 

"All knowledge of weapon called 'Sword of Chaos' as well as all things 'you' have read from book called 'Codex of Ultimate Wisdom.'" 

"Chaos Sword? I was right!" 

"Avatar..?" one of my friends asked hesitantly. 

I told them the words of the wisp. 

"The Guardian may have anticipated this, Elora," Shamino disagreed. "To throw thee off the scent. Batlin could be anywhere." 

"And anyway," Iolo added. "What dost thou know that can help him?" 

"I know I will regret this," I said darkly. "But the Codex? I can't give him anything I've read from it! It's not...well...virtuous." 

"How can it hurt us?" asked Iolo. "Maybe all the good things in it will help him to change," he tacked on, though there wasn't much hope in his voice. 

"Okay, wait." I turned back to the wisp and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that came over me. "Agreed." 

The creature came closer and something like a camera flash blinked in my eyes. 

"Location of human 'Batlin' is below the surface of Britannia at entrance of location 'Dungeon Doom'. Transfer of information is compl..." 

My swearing drowned out even the mind-voice. "Quick! We have to get back to the castle and get Lord British's crown, sceptre and amulet and then _get down to the dungeon_!" 

"Batlin's _there_?" gasped Iolo. 

Then it dawned on me and I cursed again. "That's why the Guardian wanted a scan of my memories about the Codex! He now knows the word of power to open the dungeon!" 

Shamino instantly opened his pack for the stone that would take us back to the castle. I tossed the whistle to Spark and drew the Blacksword. 

"Arcadion!" I snapped. "Can you transport us to Dungeon Doom?" 

"The centre of the world?" mused the daemon. "No." 

I had another idea. "Do you know of the Chaos Sword?" 

The Shade Blade let out a long sigh of what sounded like satisfaction. "Ahhh. Yes. But I will only tell you about it if you make a promise to release me." 

"I shall release you, Arcadion, but not until I need to." 

"This is not an agreement I favour." 

"Consider the alternative. Bound to me _forever_." 

"Avatar, here." Shamino handed me the stone and I swiftly repeated the spell sending us back to the courtyard. 

"Dupre," I said. "Quickly! Find Lord British and beg him come with his regalia. Iolo..." 

"Elora, wait!" the bard said sharply. "We still need to prepare - get weapons, armour, food, supplies - we can't just go!" 

"I can create food and light aplenty," I replied. "Iolo, thou and the others prepare to leave. Be back here in one hour or I _will_ go alone." 

Iolo nodded curtly, gestured to Shamino, Tseramed, Spark and Jaana then strode inside with them following. Dupre remained. 

"Dupre, please..." 

"Avatar, without the mystic weapons we will not survive!" 

"We have no choice!" I replied. "Batlin is going after the Chaos Sword and we have to stop him!" 

"We know not even if the blade will aid him." 

I still held the Blacksword. "Arcadion knows of it. Please, Dupre. Do as I ask. Trust me." 

The knight looked unconvinced, but nodded. "Always, Avatar." 

Sitting on the edge of the fountain, I spoke to the pulsing blue jewel in the sword. "Now." 

"As you wish, Master." The metallic voice took on a lecturing tone, as if it were enjoying the fact it had a chance to prove I didn't know everything. "The Sword of Chaos is know to me because it was forged by daemons at the command of the Shadowlords. It was infused with their anti-virtues that would affect anyone who was not one of them. Falsehood would cloud the wielder's perceptions of ally and foe, Hatred would stir up blood lust and battle frenzy, Cowardice would make you attack anything that came near you in sheer terror." 

"How would such a thing serve Batlin?" 

"If the Guardian's slave is strong enough, evil enough, Batlin will be able to use it the way the Shadowlords had intended. Foremost, Batlin will have powers to rival yours - even with me - and with the Guardian helping him, maybe he'll be powerful enough to destroy you." 

So what? I faced overwhelming odds every day. "What else?" 

"The Shadowlords always intended for the shards of Mondain's gem to be reunited as a whole, uniting _them_. The jewel was to have been placed in the Sword of Chaos like I am in this one." 

"It was to be the Shadowlord of...Doom's sword?" 

"Yes." 

I considered. "But without the jewel..." 

"The three shards still exist. The Eternal Flames merely confine them. The Shadowlords never told the daemons what would happen if the jewel and sword were joined." 

I sought the blue of the sky to drive out the horrible visions that his comment brought to mind. "Arcadion...how do you know all this?" 

I had expected his answer though it surprised me, as it was more than I had anticipated. "I was one of the three daemons who forged the sword. Each Shadowlord had a...representative. Sin 'Vraal for Hatred, Balinor for Falsehood and I for Cowardice. I alone remain as you killed Balinor at 

Stonegate and Sin 'Vraal was converted by your Lord British." 

"And being captured in the mirror on Fire Isle has extended your life or something. Or at least, protected you," I added, thinking hard. 

"Just remember your promise to free me, Avatar. Being the Guardian's slave will be much worse that being yours." 

"I promise, Arcadion," I replied in my most convincing voice. "And I'll do it before I next see Batlin in the flesh." 

The jewel flickered. "I hope honesty is your favourite virtue...Master." 

I ignored that and asked another question. "Does the Guardian have any link to the Shadowlords?" 

"That I don't know. It's possible. He seems to have all the right instincts." 

Half talking to myself, "It's as if he's been here before. As if he ruled here before Lord British came." 

"That was before my time," the daemon said indifferently. 

I sighed. More problems to worry about. "One more thing. Should we go to the Mirror Prison in Doom, would you be able to transport us back to the surface? Does your power extend that far?" 

"You're forgetting something, Master," Arcadion chided, almost smugly. "The Prison isn't _in_ Britannia. I could no more return you to Britannia from there than I could were you to stand on the surface of a moon." 

I nodded, reluctantly accepting his words. "Thank you. I'll speak to you more later." 

"One moment, Avatar," the sword interrupted as I raised it over my shoulder to slide into the scabbard. "I have a question for _you_." It paused and I detected a hint of malice when it finally asked, "You defeated the Shadowlords and are the embodiment of all the Virtues and you couldn't withstand the evils of the Chaos Sword?" 

A chill shook me from within. "What are you saying?" 

"Only that if it was that hard for you while trying to work in harness with the blade...how much more difficult will it be to have it used against you?" 

"I've changed since then." 

"I hope it's enough," the voice held a smirk in it and I sheathed the Blacksword before Arcadion could say any more. 

"So do I," I whispered to the empty courtyard. 

***

When we gathered next, everyone was ready - or as ready as one can be when preparing to enter the Shadowlords' former dungeon realm. 

Lord British handed me his crown, sceptre and amulet with no hesitation in his movements. He now wore on his head a different crown of flat, metal plates that were linked together. Each plate bore either an Ankh, a serpent or a sword etched into its golden surface. "I won't insult thee by asking thee not to lose them," the King said with a small smile. "Just bring them back in one piece - same as thou, I hope." 

I grinned. "Thank thee, milord. Keep Britannia safe while we're gone." 

Lord British raised his eyes in resignation. "Yes, milady Avatar." 

"Shamino?" 

The ranger showed me a very old, yellowed map. "I conferred with Nystul and Lord British," he said. "Dungeon Despise is supposed to have vanished a long time ago," he explained. "Lord British and the Great Council arranged for maps to be corrupted to make it seem like it was actually Shame that disappeared." He indicated the old map and pointed out the two separate dungeons, Despise to the north of Britain and Shame to the west. "Remember that Shame looked out over a lake, just like Despise does today?" 

"What is called Despise now is really Shame." I summarised. "Why the deception, though?" 

Lord British said, "I thought it would be better if Dungeon Doom remained unexplored by ambitious adventurers. This way, no one got killed and things better left buried were forgotten." 

I couldn't avoid his gaze. He was talking about the Chaos Sword and we all knew it. I changed the topic slightly. "Do we have a Virtue Stone marked for Despise - I mean Shame?" 

Shamino shook his head. "Not since thou didst destroy the generator it sheltered." 

"It's not that far a ride," interrupted Iolo. "Just make sure we've got the Orb of the Moons and let's go!" 

Telling them what Arcadion had said had lent everyone a sense of urgency. They had seen the danger of letting Batlin get hold of the Sword. We had to get down there, even if only to make sure no one could take it. Moreover, I had mentioned that because the Prison wasn't in Britannia - as Arcadion had said, - then the Orb should work there. The generator's effects only blanketed Britannia...or so I hoped. 

I had no choice, I reminded myself. The Prison itself was more important than how we were going to get out of it. 

One thing Batlin didn't have - and the Guardian couldn't have gleaned from my memories - was maps of the dungeons. Especially Doom. And with luck, the monsters stalking the corridors would attack him just as I knew they'd attack us. 

I took the letter the King offered me. "It's a royal commission. Any horses and riding gear you need from my stables will be paid for by the crown." 

Nodding thanks, I bowed low. "My liege," I said. "We will see thee again after we return victorious." 

If he had any doubts, they were hidden well enough that I couldn't see them. He merely responded to my formal tone in kind. "I pray that it will be soon." 

My companions bowed, and then we all turned and left the Lord of Britannia beside the crystalline fountain. 

Chuckles saw us as we hurried through and the jester clapped a hand to his forehead causing the bells on his hat to chime loudly. 

"They're at it again!" he moaned tragically. "Another quest! Well, while thou'rt at it, don't forget to look under the flower pot in..." 

He was totally ignored. 

***

Six valorian steeds were readied in good time and we were galloping west along the King's Highway in less than two hours. The day was perfect. Flawless sapphire sky, warm, bright sunshine, a brisk wind that blew both my hair and Jaana's out behind us like flags. We sped past the border of Britain and trees flew behind us as we picked up speed. 

I hadn't ridden in quite a while and knew I'd be sore all over by tomorrow, but I didn't care. It was a great feeling, enhanced by Spark's excited whoops and yells. 

The boy was riding double with Shamino and having fun at the experience. His only knowledge of horses was in a wagon, so he didn't know how to ride. 

"If thou dost not stop all that carrying on, thou shalt frighten him," Shamino declared. 

"I want to name him!" Spark exclaimed. "How about 'Batlin's Bane'?" 

"I think Elora has precedence on that job. Besides, we'll have to let the horses go when we get to the dungeon." 

"Fine then!" Spark was silent a minute. "'Silverwind'?" 

I grinned as Shamino's surprised answer was, "How didst _thou_ come up with _that_?" 

Creative," Jaana said admiringly. 

As we came to the fork in the road that led south to Skara Brae and north towards Empath Abbey, something flew past my ear and I heard Dupre let out a grunt, which was quickly followed by a clatter of armour. 

"Avatar! Reapers!" 

Dupre's riderless horse shot past me as I reined in sharply, turning in my saddle. Everyone else stopped and Jaana swung down to kneel by the knight who lay stunned on the road. 

The Blacksword came out with a steely slither. "Can you see it? Them?" I asked, looking around at the trees and bracken. 

All was silent. _Eerily_ silent. This felt like 'Return of the Jedi,' when princess Leia was on the moon of Endor and being shot at from she-knew-not-where. 

Then, I saw it. Tall, stark, leafless, _human_ features of eyes, nose, mouth, cleverly camouflaged amidst weathered bark and cracked wood. Dead, but alive. 

"There," I said softly, pointing with my blade. 

A _twang_ sounded from my left and a wooden _clack_ from my right. An unearthly shriek echoed in the still air as a green-fletched arrow struck through the reaper's closed left eye, and a glowing, magical crossbow bolt pierced the other. 

Shamino's Juggernaut hammer smashed a huge hole in the lower half of the trunk and I charged my horse forward, ducking under the return of the warhammer and praying that none of the wild bolts of lightning thrown by the infuriated, ancient tree would hit me. 

They didn't. The Shade Blade sheared the reaper in half as easily as a knife passes through warmed butter. Reddish sap oozed feebly down the dark wood and the animated tree soon stopped thrashing, and crumbled. 

Turning my face away from the sudden stench of rotting wood, I walked my mount to the others. 

"Good shots," I said to Tseramed and Iolo, who nodded at the compliment and lowered their weapons. To Shamino, "Nice throw. Aim for its head next time." 

He grinned. "I was busy persuading Spark here that his sling wouldn't do much good." 

"Not _fair_!" the disgruntled Spark complained. 

Jaana had Dupre back on his feet. "Sir Dupre is fine, Elora," she reported. "His armour - and probably the Magebane sword - absorbed most of the magic bolt. He was merely winded when the force landed him on the road." 

"I'm sorry, Avatar," Dupre said. "I should have seen it coming." 

"As long as you're well, my friend." I wiped the hardening sap off my sword and onto the saddle blanket. "Jaana, would you or Dupre mind if your horse was shared?" 

At this, Dupre looked around for his own mount and cursed when he couldn't see it. 

"I am fine with it," replied Jaana. "But we'll have to slow the pace." 

"I'll try a strength spell on her," I answered. "With luck, Dupre's horse hasn't gone far." 

***

We never found Dupre's horse. Fortunately, though, Jaana's mare kept up under her double burden and we were fording the narrow creek that fed the lake outside Dungeon Shame half an hour later. The clear water was as still as a pond and reflected a precise, inverted image of the mountains surrounding it. 

I scowled at Iolo as the bard opened his backpack. He had insisted on bringing torches and, furthermore, had brought them. 

"I won't have thee - and thy liege agreed with this - wasting thine energies on Light spells. We're going to be down there a _long_ time." 

I sniffed. "Not as long as we could be." 

Iolo unsaddled his gelding. "What meanest thou?" 

"Thou hast lived longer than I, dear friend. That tends to cause memories to dribble out of thine head." With a smack to its rump, my horse galloped away towards the narrow pass through which we'd come. 

"So _remind_ me! What plan hast thou?" 

"Oh, just a useful spell I learned a _long_ time ago." 

Iolo sent his horse after mine. "How long?" 

"The Age of Enlightenment." 

"That is a long time ago. Many spells were made then." 

"Yes, I know." My head turned to the left in response to someone tapping that shoulder, then Jaana's voice came from my right. 

"Don't tease him, Avatar. I think she is referring to Z-Down, Iolo. Or was it Y-Down?" 

"X-Down, for all I care," I replied. "But it doesn't matter. Damn it, Jaana, I was having fun!" 

She smirked. "Yes, I know." 

"Hey," shouted Spark. "Can I play too?" 

"Thou preferest teasing Dupre more, dost thou not?" called Jaana. 

"It's no fun when he wears armour! I cannot get his attention." Spark's sling whirled in the air and a small stone bounced off the back of Dupre's helmet with a metallic _ping_. Dupre, intent on unstrapping the bridle on his horse, merely gave an irritated shrug. 

"Dost thou think the spell will work in Doom?" Iolo asked me, turning us to the original topic. 

I sighed. "It's doubtful. I don't think I'll have the mana necessary when we get there, in any case." 

"We're ready, Avatar," called Tseramed from where he had been stashing the riding equipment. 

Shamino lit a torch. The flames looked weak in the bright sunlight. 

I looked up at the vivid sky and sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening. Then, "Let's go." Shamino, beside me. Tseramed and Dupre, rear-guard. Iolo and Jaana, midrank with Spark." 

"_Midrank_!" Spark protested. "But..." 

A shadow passed over us all and we instinctively scattered. If it was a dragon blocking the sun, it wouldn't be able to get us all at once with a breath of fire. I squinted upwards at a winged creature that was coming closer and saw that it was much smaller than a dragon. It was a gargoyle. The red-skinned creature beat leathery wings and landed before the dungeon's opening. 

"To beg pardon," it said. "To think a warning should have been given before approaching." 

We gathered back together to view the stranger. He had glowing brown eyes, broad shoulders and wore the traditional gargish raiment of white loincloth and thin, flat metal bands which crossed each shoulder, met at midchest, then vanished around the opposite hip. A glowing boomerang was hooked into his belt and on seeing it, I wondered for the hundredth time how primitive Australian weaponry had got to Britannia in the first place. Or even the other way around. Otherwise, the gargoyle was just an ordinary, unremarkable gargoyle. 

As he had spoken in the common tongue, I replied in kind, though with the gargish affections. "To believe we don't know you." 

"To disagree. To know you know me." The skull-like head grinned. "To know it has been a long time. To look different, to _be_ different." 

I shared a glance with the others, who shrugged in bewilderment. 

The gargoyle's smile widened. "To say that when last we met, my name was Beh Lem." My eyes widened. "To be grown now, and to be called Umdelor." 

"Beh Lem!" I exclaimed. "Umdelor, whatever you wish to be called! To have not seen you since returning the Codex to the Void! It's great to see you!" 

In gargish, Umdelor replied, "_Vestas leg-le de te kodeks_." 

I raised an eyebrow. "_Lok_." 

"_An-ord-mek te sadis-turn bal_." 

"How..?" Chaos Sword in Dungeon Doom? 

"We can talk as we travel, _Lor-ra_," our former companion said, using my gargish name. Valorous Light. 

"You're coming?" 

"To have made _jur_ to friend Captain Johne after consulting the _bal-sil_ of the _kodeks_." 

Johne had been instrumental in the raising of the Shadowlords; a pawn of Mondain's Black Jewel. Of course he'd be interested in anything to do with them. But how had Beh Lem - Umdelor learned about our mission? 

"To have helpful information also." 

That cut it. I needed anything that would give me an edge on Batlin. 

"To agree, then. But you know the danger." 

He nodded. "To understand. To think, hopefully, my _ta-re-por_ will prove useful." He patted the boomerang affectionately. 

I smiled grimly. "We will need it." To the others, I said, "Umdelor will be accompanying us." 

"All the way?" queried Iolo. 

"Yep, all the way." 

"To remember three of you besides the Avatar." A long-nailed finger pointed at Iolo. "_Aud-char-lem_ Iolo..._mek-lem_ Dupre..._ter-vas-arb-lem_ Shamino." 

Each bowed slightly at being named. 

I quickly introduced the other three. "_Arc-lem_ Tseramed, _in-mani-lem_ Jaana and _bet-lem_ Spark." 

Umdelor seemed particularly interested in the boy. "To partake in a quest such as this at so young an age..." he smiled as if remembering something. "Be grateful for the honour of it." 

Spark gave a solemn nod, then asked, "What did Elora call me?" 

"Let's go!" I announced. "Quickly, now. Umdelor, front-rank with Shamino and me. Shamino, light another torch for Dupre. Move, people!" 

Times like these, I loved authority. 

Dupre took the second flaming brand and we all moved into the shadow of the mountains, the urgency of our mission returning. 

I didn't hesitate as grey rock replaced the azure sky. Drawing out reagents, I recalled the ancient spell and used it to transport us down into the depths of a dungeon that, centuries ago, had been called Dungeon Shame...and had opened out to the centre of the world. 

***

_*Do not go in! It is a trap! Do you not see? It is a trap!*_

***

I woke, sheened in sweat, to the sound of Shamino calling the alarm at an attack. Still fully armed, the Blacksword appeared in my hands as if by magic and I took position at an opening of our small barricade erected around the campsite. Shaking the fuzziness of sleep from my head and aching in numerous places from the riding yesterday, I tried to see what was hidden in the gloom. 

A squeal split the humid air and was followed by a wet splat. 

"Giant bats!" Tseramed shouted as his bowstring sang. 

"Where away?" called Iolo. 

"North and east!" 

"Dupre, watch the swamp!" yelled Jaana. 

I thought I saw a darker shape move in the air a distance in front of me. 

"Grav Po-" I choked on the second syllable as pain flashed through my chest. 

"Avatar! No spells!" Iolo called the rebuke from nearby. 

"Arcadion," I called to my sword. "Restore me!" 

The blade glowed and I felt the intoxicating flow of power rush into me. The pain vanished completely to be replaced by an almost overwhelming need to use this newly gained power. My mind cleared. I chose to succumb to this need. 

"Jaana, take my place!" 

She obeyed without comment, but I saw the surprise in her eyes. 

Circling the small cookfire to stand beside Tseramed, I shouted, "In Flam Grav!" casting reagents at the ground away from us. 

Fire blossomed, then roared to life in a blazing inferno. A bat flew directly into it then fell screeching as its short fur caught alight. 

The rest of the bats, seemingly blinded by the sudden, intense light, flapped around in confusion for a while, then flew off. 

Releasing the magic had taken away some of the pressure. Sometimes Arcadion gave me too much. 

"Dupre!" Tseramed shouted into the fire-lit darkness. "Didst thou find him?" 

I frowned, peering into the dark swamp. I caught sight of fire gleaming against metal, then the faint glow of the drawn Magebane sword. 

Dupre gave the fire field a wide berth, preferring to walk through the mud. The helmeted head shook in a negative answer and the shoulders slumped. 

"He wanted to bring a bat down on his own," called Dupre in response to a question I shouted. "I can't find him anywhere." 

"Spark?" I guessed in a controlled voice, and the archer nodded. 

The beat of wings returned. "They're back!" 

"_An ta_!" a gargoyle voice cried. 

"Don't shoot!" Dupre yelled to Tseramed. "It's Umdelor!" 

The gargoyle landed and deposited Spark on the ground. The boy stood stock-still a minute then ran into the shelter without speaking. 

"To believe he was scared when he was snatched up out of danger by me," Umdelor apologised softly. "To think he must have thought me a daemon." 

"Shall we get ready to move on, Avatar?" Tseramed asked as Dupre trudged up to where we stood. 

"How long have we rested?" I asked. 

"A few hours, I think." 

"All right. Yes, get ready to move." I stopped the gargoyle as he started past me. "To speak with you is my wish." 

He nodded. "To agree. Of what would you ask?" 

In gargish, I said, "How did you know we were going to find the Chaos Sword, for one?" 

"Inwisloklem heard you speaking to one with whom he doesn't know. He knew I sought information on the Shadowlords, so when he heard it all, he sent me a message." 

Frowning slightly, "How? Who was his messenger?" 

"A wisp." 

"_What_?" I exclaimed in normal speech. "That's just perfect!" 

Umdelor looked confused. 

"Sarcasm," I explained, then switched to gargish again. "How much were you relayed?" 

"All of it. Up to when you agreed with the unknown one that you hoped 'it will be enough.'" 

"Well, this is the long and short of it. The Guardian now knows everything I said and the...other guy said. Every advantage I might have taken with that knowledge is lost!" Without waiting for an answer, I hurried into the camp and gathered my things. The companions were silent until Shamino spoke. 

"Avatar, don't forget thy swamp boots." 

I nodded. "Thanks," then made the switch. "Ready?" 

They nodded. 

***

The only one who didn't have to slog through the mud and stinking cesspools was Umdelor. Watching him fly back and forth to scout our surroundings almost tempted me to try a 'Fly' spell. The gurgling quagmire sucked at our boots and every step resulted in new, revolting stenches. Clouds of insects hovered around us, the multitude of beating wings more than an annoying buzz that just kept going...and going...and going. It reminded me of a small plane continuously flying overhead. 

Being a person with the kind of blood a mosquito loves to feast on, I was not having a very entertaining time, especially since the little blood-suckers were desperate and kept flying at the only skin I had exposed - my face. 

Spark's luck was worse. A few minutes into the swamp, we'd reached a particularly boggy place and the boy had lacked the strength to pull his feet and boots out of the muck. 

The boots had been left behind - claimed by the murky water and sludge. By the time Spark had thought to ask for help, fetid water was almost over his boot-tops and none of us could manage to pull the green footwear out. 

Umdelor had offered to carry him. Spark had adamantly refused. For want of us to hurry, I cast a levitation spell on him and he hovered between Jaana and Iolo, who held one of his hands each and pulled him along. 

The ground eventually became more solid, though there was a considerable layer of slime lying over it that made every step a potential slide back down into the swamp. Fortune was with us, however, and we managed to reach the western border of the subterranean mountains without incident. 

"One hour break," I announced, dumping my pack on the relatively dry rocks scattered near the foothills. 

The others took instant advantage and sat down with audible sighs. I lowered Spark and he put on his normal leather boots again. 

Though the trek through the swamp had taken at least three hours by my judgement - I'd forgotten my pocket watch - and I was as tired as they were, I kept my eyes up to watch for Umdelor. 

The gargoyle swooped down a few minutes later and rested his wings. "To report all is clear to the east," he said, "but there is a strange darkness there. Blacker than anything ever seen by me." 

"'Beyond this darkness lies the core of the world,'" I murmured, quoting the Codex. "That's where the opening of Dungeon Doom is. _Sadis-turn bal_." I sighed. "Sit down and rest a while, Umdelor. You've more than earned it." 

"To not be tired," he grinned, sitting anyway. "Such an adventure at your side again is not something one sleeps through! But if we were to..._lok_..." 

I raised an eyebrow at the shift in languages and kept my gaze roaming the edge of the swamp. "About?" 

In his own tongue, he went on, "Inwisloklem mentioned the one you were speaking to refer to Sin 'Vraal." 

In gargish, I replied, "Yes, what of it?" Though I knew what he was going to say, and I almost kicked myself that I hadn't asked Arcadion about it myself. Sin 'Vraal was a gargoyle, not a daemon! 

Umdelor said as much. "Sin 'Vraal was not a daemon. He was a gargoyle." 

"You're right." I pulled out the Blacksword with a groan. The horse-riding pains were starting again, reinforced by the hard walk through the swamp. "Maybe you should learn what you don't yet know." Speaking normally, "Arcadion?" 

The gem in the hilt shimmered. "Yes, Master?" 

Umdelor gasped. "It speaks!" He said in the common speech. 

"There is a daemon in this jewel," I explained. "Arcadion was the servant of Nosfentor, Shadowlord of Cowardice." 

Umdelor nodded, as if the identification confirmed a suspicion. "This was the one Inwisloklem heard you speaking with?" 

"It is." I half-expected Arcadion to say something like "Behold, the wondrous talking sword!" or "You should start charging admission for this, Avatar." 

"Please, to ask it about Sin 'Vraal." 

"Arcadion, you said Sin 'Vraal was a daemon, but he was a gargoyle." 

"Don't be naive, Avatar," the Shade Blade snorted. "Do you truly believe the similarities between daemons and gargoyles are limited to what they look like?" 

"To not be a daemon!" retorted Umdelor with vehemence. 

"Of _course_ not. Wings, red skin, glowing eyes, horns, magic..." 

"To say it proves nothing! We have not tails nor talons nor _goat_ legs..." 

"Gargoyles are the descendants of daemons." 

"Like...evolution?" I asked as Umdelor spluttered in outrage. 

"Perhaps. Lord British corrupted Sin 'Vraal, turning him to the 'good' path, when the Shadowlords imprisoned him. Maybe Astaroth punished Sin 'Vraal by mutating him and reducing his magic, taking flight from his wings." 

"But to point out that was but one gargoyle!" objected Umdelor. "What about all the others? We can fly." 

"I don't know all the facts, gargoyle," sneered Arcadion. "But daemons have more power then you and we all look remarkably similar." 

"Maybe the daemons that became good were turned into gargoyles," suggested Iolo, who had been listening in. 

"You'll probably have the opportunity to ask the Shadowlords if Batlin reaches the Chaos Sword before you do." 

I wondered if the Shadowlords really _could_ be recalled since I'd destroyed the three counterparts of Hatred, Falsehood and Cowardice. True, the shards were not destroyed, but confined within the eternal flames. So what exactly would happen if Batlin tried to get them and put them in the sword? 

Iolo shrugged at Arcadion's taunt, then lowered his head back to the rolled up cloak, watching the occasional flash of stars against what should have been the cave roof. "How did the gargoyles get to Britannia?" 

"Banishment," replied the daemon. "That's my opinion, anyway. Who would _want_ to live _here_?" 

I started at a slithery noise and stood warily, peering around. Nothing. I sat down again. "How long to go?" 

Shamino was watching a candle marked at regular intervals to time our rest period. "It's only been ten minutes, Elora." 

I nodded. "Okay. Umdelor, get some rest." 

The gargoyle glared at the Blacksword. "Yes, Avatar." Then he sat against a small, upright pillar and his glowing eyes went dark. 

"Umdelor," I asked, "one question?" 

The eyes opened again. "Yes, Avatar?" 

"Your name. Where did you get it? What does it mean?" 

"To believe you said 'one question,' Avatar," he replied with a vague smile. "It is a long story that can wait for later. To say for now that it was taken up in honour of a _drak_." 

"A dragon, you mean?" 

"Yes, a dragon. A curious, strange dragon who for some reason, saved the life of a young, foolish gargoyle." His eyes dimmed slightly. "To tell you the whole story later." 

I sheathed Arcadion and opened my pack. Reaching inside, I pulled out a long, slender, grey chain from which hung a shiny silver serpent overlaid with a bluish tint. Tracing the curves absently, I wondered what powers the Guardian had that allowed Batlin to pass through the darkness around Doom. 

My thoughts turned back to the discussion about daemons and gargoyles. 

"Maybe Iolo is right," I pondered silently. "Maybe gargoyles are the good version of daemons. But there are evil gargoyles. Forskis is one example. It doesn't matter much, I guess. Sin 'Vraal served Astaroth, he told me as much. Gargoyle or daemon, there are good and evil of the former, probably of the latter though I've yet to see it. Even humans served the Shadowlords, like Blackthorn. Maybe what they really wanted was someone to _like_ serving them." Shrugging at my own speculations, I hung Lord British's amulet over one knee, pulled out the pouches I kept my reagents in and started to mix spells. 

***

"In Por!" 

The effect was similar to 'Recall,' but with the weird feeling of sliding through things. First was the cold stone of the crags. I concentrated on the patch of land between mountains and a lake Umdelor had told me about. Before long, we were there. The ground was blessedly firm and a very small beach met the edge of dark waters to the east. Though the light of the torches didn't reach very far, I _felt_ I could see the darkness on the barely visible island in the lake's centre. 

"Come on," I said. "We're almost there!" 

"We've hardly begun," I heard Dupre mutter. 

Turning southeast, we skirted the edge of the lake without encounter until a bridge could be seen stretching form our side to the island. 

"I don't remember this," I frowned, brushing a fingertip over a carved, stone banister. 

"Man-made," Iolo agreed. "Or, at least, something that can make such incredible detail." 

The railings were indeed impressive. Magnificent headpieces of a dragon adorned left and right sides, wings stretched out in flight and graceful necks craned forward. Each statuette sported eyes of faceted garnet. The dark orange stones glowed as they hoarded the firelight. The railing was obviously meant to be the dragons' tails. They trailed off into the gloom at a slight rise, suggesting that the bridge was arched, or at least went up. 

"Whoever did this was a master artisan," declared Iolo. "Each scale is depicted with...all I can say is...its own individuality!" 

He was right. Every small scale was subtly _different_. Magic? If not, this bridge - this masterpiece - would have taken years to make. 

The path of the bridge was also carved with scales, though much larger. In fact, each could have equalled the size of a battle shield. 

It occurred to me the others were waiting for my decision. Cross it, or magic ourselves across? 

"Let's not take chances," I said. The thing would probably come to life or vanish completely when we were halfway across. "Gather around." Facing north, I repeated the teleport spell. "In Por!" 

And came face to face with blackness. A feeling of vast unease turned me around to see the startled expressions of my friends. "Douse the torches. We won't need them for a while." I pulled Lord British's amulet out of my pack and hurriedly clasped it around my neck. "Everyone, join hands." 

Gloves and gauntlets were removed as hands were gripped. No one would get lost if I could help it. Then I slowly turned to face the darkness, seeing the line it made against what I could already see. The amulet didn't seem to diminish the lightlessness at all. 

"May persistence and precision lead to success," I heard Umdelor say in a tongue everyone could understand. 

Silently, I replied I'd be happy if we just got out of this alive. 

***

Okay, why did black have so many nice-sounding synonyms? Ebony, sable, raven, dusky...even sooty held a hint of what I could only call 'cuteness'. How could anyone like the colour? It wasn't even a colour in itself! I reviewed the less popular words. Murky, gloomy, dark, coal, pitch, swarthy...too many. My conclusion: This place was blacker than the Stygian Abyss, a place named for being dark. 

No one spoke after the confirmation that everyone could see me, just not each other or even themselves. We just walked through the darkness, eyes straining to see what wasn't there, expecting to trip over things on the ground that we couldn't see. Just shut your eyes, block your ears and walk. How would you feel? Apprehensive, afraid. Now try imagining walking like this for a full quarter hour. That's how long it took, though it seemed much longer. 

I wondered if I was going a little mad. There was a lighter bit of black up ahead. My eyes fixed eagerly on it and I tugged at the hand holding mine. Walking slowly, I moved towards it. 

A gigantic rock plugging a huge hole in the obsidian floor. 

"Obsidian. Enough with the 'black' words, Elora," I muttered. 

"That's it!" Shamino exclaimed. "We made it!" 

"Get ready," I ordered. "Quick rest, then we go in." They almost reluctantly released hands before complying. My gaze again went to the smooth rock. 

Silvery-grey, flawless in shape and texture. Almost beautiful if not for the dread it kept at bay. 

Spark pushed a piece of beef jerky into my hand and I chewed at it like it was a strip of old leather. It certainly tasted like one. 

"Let's at least feel healthy when we go down there," I said. "In Mani Ylem!" 

The garlic, ginseng and mandrake root fell to the ground and became a roasted chicken, a berry pie, a pumpkin, some baked potatoes and a grilled fish. The aroma was devastating. 

My mouth was suddenly watering. "I bags the pie!" 

"Avatar..." groaned Iolo. 

"Thou dost not see _me_ complaining," said Spark, pouncing on a steaming potato. 

"Well, it is too late now, Iolo," agreed Dupre. "Some chicken, Jaana?" 

She tossed away her jerky. "Please." 

"But Lord British said-" 

"Iolo," said Shamino as he divided the hot, spiced fish between himself and Tseramed. "Dost thou _like_ jerky?" 

"Well..." 

"It's not even in any of the five food groups!" added Spark. "Chicken, pie, potato, fish and pumpkin!" 

I smirked around a mouthful of pie. The raw pumpkin lay unclaimed and Iolo was eyeing the chicken wistfully. "Umdelor?" I inquired. "Pie?" 

"To graciously decline." The gargoyle had brought his own food - a substantial supply of horse chops. "To prefer these." 

Dupre suddenly laughed out loud. "I was in the royal stables a while back when two gargoyles came in asking to purchase horses. The stablemaster asked them if they wanted valorian, mountain or desert breed, and they replied..." he laughed again. "'To inquire which kind tastes better?'" 

We laughed with him and my spirit lifted with the sound. 

"Why would a gargoyle need to ride a horse when he hath wings?" said Iolo. "I wonder what Smith would think of this conversation." 

I gave the bard half my pie and kicked the pumpkin into the darkness surrounding us. "Who knows?" 

***

Taking off my helmet, I donned the bejewelled Crown of Lord British. The heavy, magical ornament felt cold against my skin and a faint tingling shot through me as I settled it on my brow. Then I picked up the golden sceptre and faced the dungeon, my companions taking position behind me. 

Shoving all thoughts aside about whether I looked foolish or regal, I yelled a single Word at the top of my lungs. 

"Veramocor!" 

The ground trembled and some mystical force _lifted_ the rock high into the air until it vanished beyond the darkness above us. Wasting no time, I approached the gaping, black entrance to Doom...and jumped in. 

*** 


	2. Scimitar of Nightmares

**

The Dark Realm

**

_Book 2 - Scimitar of Nightmares_

By Shadow of Light Dragon aka Laura Campbell

Darkness engulfed me. Wind rushed up past my face and I felt my cloak flaring out behind like wings. The fall was longer than I'd expected and after a few seconds, I felt a twinge of fear that I'd made a big mistake. My heart pounded loudly as the thought shrieked through my mind that I should have sent Umdelor to fly down and check the path first. Then I rejected that thought. I had to go first as the Avatar. They would go through hell for me, but only if I was there to lead them. That meant I charged in first, and fled last. 

The air suddenly became warmer, then hot - almost humid. My fall slowed, losing acceleration, then velocity resulting in an almost-gentle touchdown on a solid surface. Brushing the light sweat from my face, I quickly stepped aside for whoever was behind me in the jump. 

The room was familiar, even though I could barely see in the gloom. I could hear the faint humming of shadowy force fields I knew encircled the perimeter and an almost imperceptible red glow from an unseen source allowed me to see a dim outline of myself, a square meter of ground and nothing else. I was standing inside the threshold of Dungeon Doom. With a grim smile, I fingered the orb of power that tipped Lord British's sceptre. 

"_AVATAR_!" something screamed and a weight slammed into me from behind. I went sprawling and quickly rolled away, staring into the red-cast blackness. 

"Bet Lor!" A tiny light formed at my spell, but it was bright enough to momentarily blind me. 

A jingle of chain mail heralded Dupre's arrival from the fall. 

"Dupre, look out! Something's down here!" I whipped out the Blacksword but the unseen creature pushed me forward again. 

"Fool to return, Avatar!" The voice rasped like grating steel. 

"What are you?" I took a defensive stance, looking around. 

The answer was a malicious, barely audible whisper. "Daemon." 

I spun and slashed to the sound of a shriek, struck again and a dark shape leaped into the air. "Arcadion," I said to my sword. "Get ready for some death!" 

"With pleasure," the enslaved daemon sword replied dryly. 

"I feel your anti-magic, Avatar," the daemon sneered. "It comes from that thing you wear on your head! I would have it, but I need not any magic to rip your skull from your shoulders!" 

Looking up towards the source of the voice, I saw the creature descending on me. I barely had time to raise my blade and shout, "Now!" 

The force drove me to my knees and flailing, red wings brushed my face as the daemon's death cry echoed through the chamber. I waited for the sound to fade and listened to the silence for a minute. 

"Hello?" I called finally, wrenching Arcadion free of the daemon's chest. 

"We're here, Elora. Tseramed and Umdelor are still coming." 

Two torches flared to life in Shamino's hands and I got a better look at my assailant. It was still alive, but barely. Its fiery eyes opened and stared at the Blacksword in fear. 

"Arcadion..." it croaked before its eyes went dark and the horn-crowned head bowed. 

I took a deep breath to steady my heart rate, then strode back to my comrades. "A daemon. It's dead and it somehow recognised Arcadion." I cocked an eye at my sword. 

"I know not how," the blade admitted in a reluctant voice. 

Sheathing him, I swore. "Where's the sceptre? I must have dropped it." 

Tseramed landed behind us and I helped him to his feet as Iolo and Shamino searched for the sceptre with their torches. It was found quickly and the bard handed it back to me as Umdelor touched the ground softly, his red wings spread out. 

"What wilt thou do with that?" asked Spark, peering at the jewelled rod. 

"Follow me, people." Not knowing which direction I was facing, I led them to a wall or swirling, violet mists that reached up too high for us to see and formed an impenetrable barrier. "We are on the fringe of the Ethereal Plane," I said. "Those are shadowalls. To my knowledge, only this sceptre can dispel them." I swept the golden rod through the mist for emphasis and it dispersed as if a fresh wind had blown it away. "And this is how we got out of here the last time. Follow me." I hooked the sceptre into my belt, drew the Blacksword once again and led my seven companions into the depths of Dungeon Doom. 

***

"It's like the place hath been abandoned," mused Dupre. "That or Batlin killed everything on his way through." 

"_Almost_ everything," Jaana corrected. "Get some sleep, Sir Knight." 

I yawned and lay down on my bedroll, my armour piled beside me. "Well, at least we made good time." 

We were already on the third level of the dungeon and apart from the daemon I'd faced, the only resistance had been a single giant spider Spark had killed. The enormous arachnid had been about to drop on Shamino's head when the boy had let fly his sling. Actually, the spider _still_ fell on Shamino, though the ranger - once he'd got back to his feet - had been alive to tell about it, and to thank his saviour. 

"Just remember to wake me in four hours, milady," replied Dupre. 

"Yes, milord," Jaana answered roguishly. "Now sleep, or must I cast a spell on thee?" 

He snorted and lay down. 

There was a single candle illuminating our site and I watched the tall still flame, finding it impossible to relax. It was as if something lurked around the corner and I was afraid of dropping my guard lest something catch me unawares. And the flame...the red-gold flame reminded me too much of the colour of someone's eyes. 

_*Sleep, Avatar.*_

"Where have _you_ been?" I thought. 

_*Did you miss me?*_ Mock surprise tinged his Voice. 

"You're the only one who seems to understand the significance of the Sword of Chaos." 

_*Ahh, yes. Better even than you.*_

I closed my eyes to concentrate. "Explain it to me." 

A chuckle. _*I already told you.*_

"A trap? Come now, there's more to it than that." 

_*There always is...but not much more.*_

"I suppose I'll find out soon enough." 

There was a positively gleeful pause. _*Have you given any thought to my offer?*_

"Of betrayal? Be serious!" _*Before this quest is over, you will beg to join me.*_

There was that in his Voice which grated on my nerves and made me consider my next words carefully. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a clever comeback. That kind of thing I usually left to Dupre, Iolo or Shamino. "You want me to replace Batlin, don't you?" I sent the thought, almost certain I was right. "Is this a test of some kind?" 

The next pause made me feel very uncomfortable. _*When next we speak, Avatar, you will kneel or die.*_

"If I kneel to you, the Avatar will die." 

The Guardian didn't reply and I actually felt smug at getting the last word in. Then wariness set in. From the Guardian's view, I'd serve him or die before this was all over. I wasn't one to blindly believe his words, but they always seemed to hold elements of truth, though always twisted. Half-truths were always painful. 

Maybe if I pretended to kneel...? No. I would never serve or feign service. If the worst came to the worst, I could always cast 'Kal Lor' and get us the hell out of there before we perished. I just hoped the spell would work in the ethereal plane. 

***

"Thou knowest," Spark said as we passed through a cave of pink and white shawl formations, "this place is almost beautiful." 

I agreed. "Too bad we have to walk on it." 

Despite the delicate appearance of the white crystal we trod on, they were surprisingly hard. In the firelight, they glittered like a garden of stars. Around them were white rock formations that looked like clouds or gently frothing bubbles. 

"What causes it?" Shamino asked. 

"Something to do with what's in the rock and how much water gets fed through the caves," I answered. "I think limestone is one element." 

"I would love to study this wonder," the ranger sighed. "I could almost believe here that I spend too much of my time above ground." 

Everyone laughed softly, but even then there were echoes. 

"Not even the bee caves near Empath Abbey are like this," said Tseramed. "And those honeycomb caverns that virtually drip liquid gold are among the most wondrous sights I have ever seen." 

"Poetic," I noted with a grin, which sparked more chuckling. 

Most of the caverns were like that one as we continued our descent. Stalagmites and stalactites, shawls and crystals, more. Everything looked frail but was as hard as...well...rock. 

"Look," I said, pointing out a gleam of metal. "Next ladder down." 

The metal rungs were slick. Gripping them firmly, I went down first and caught the torch Shamino dropped down to me. The light proved unnecessary, however. 

The ladder was in the middle of a beautiful marble hall. Carved pillars a milky pink colour connected floor to ceiling and flaming braziers stood between these columns. The floor was tiled in grey stone flecked with gold and it was free of dust. Apart from the ladder, there was only one other exit in the form of a massive set of bronze double-doors set into one of the walls. 

Shamino drew a breath of wonder as he stepped away from the ladder. "I cannot remember this place, either." 

I gave him back the torch and hurried to the door, hoping for a keyhole or something. Giving that idea up, I pressed my ear to the door, but it must have been thick, or maybe the room beyond was empty, for I heard nothing. 

"I have a bad feeling," I told Shamino. 

"I as well." 

The others climbed down and stared around for a while before I spoke. "I'll open the door with a telekinesis spell. Iolo, Tseramed, Shamino and Spark..." the boy perked up. "Get ready to fire or throw on my order. Jaana, prepare any offensive spells. Dupre, stand with me." 

Iolo loaded his crossbow. "Dost thou expect anything?" 

I nodded tersely. "I expect everything." Rubbing the serpent symbol on the crown I wore, I added, "If it's magic, this will protect us, as will the Magebane sword." 

He gave a calm nod. We'd all gone through this same routine several times before, but had never found anything to attack. But this hall...I sensed a trap in every fibre of my being. 

I cast the spell and opened the door with my mind ten paces away. The hinges moved noiselessly and a sooty-red light filtered through the narrow opening. A few seconds later, we were staring at another empty room. One that had a ladder going down in the middle of the floor. 

"That's the one which will take us to the prison room," I said steadily, though I was virtually trembling with excitement and impatience. "Wait here. If there is a trap, I'll spring it. Be ready." 

I forewent any magical protection as mana was running low. I'd need it for Batlin and I knew he'd be here. 

"Remember your promise to free me when you see Batlin in the flesh, Master," Arcadion murmured. 

Shaking my head at both the stupidity of my oath and the thought that Arcadion seemed to have some kind of mind-reading power, I crossed the distance to the door and stepped over the threshold. 

"Elora! The doors!" 

Dupre's warning came too late. The bronze double-doors boomed shut as I spun to face them. I tried to force them with the spell I'd used just before, but nothing happened. Then I noticed the faint blue flicker of light around each door. 

"Magically locked," I said with a sigh. 

"I never would have expected an intelligent observation from a human," a deep, snarling voice stated. 

I turned slowly. At least fifty daemons now stood by the ladder, each half again as tall as I and wielding black or fiery weapons. The speaker was unmistakable. Twice my height and possessing an impressive display of horns on his head as well as a wingspan longer than three two-handed swords, his eyes were like twin pools of molten lava. 

I didn't fool myself into thinking a peaceable solution could be reached just because he could talk. 

"A girl-human in royal jewels," the daemon went on. "You can't be Lord British, so you must be the Avatar." 

The daemons behind the spokesman hissed and sidled. 

"I am," I said, grateful my voice was not hoarse. 

"How disappointing," the huge creature murmured. "Then why came you here? You already rescued your liege." 

"Let's stop beating around the bush, daemon. Where is Batlin?" 

A hairless brow raised mockingly. "I can be Batlin. Come, Avatar, you wish to kill me?" The red arms opened wide. 

"He is not Batlin," Arcadion whispered. "But you must slay him." 

"Why?" I whispered back. 

"Or else you will never reach that ladder." 

"The sword's right, you know," interrupted the huge daemon. His eyes narrowed as he peered at the Blacksword. "You must be Arcadion." 

"How do you know this?" I responded calmly. 

The daemon sneered. "I recognised his voice." Massive shoulders shrugged. "And one of my informants already met you both at Doom's entrance." 

I caught sight of the daemon I knew I had killed! Why I recognised him, I don't know, but I did - and he was very much alive. I let out a bored sigh. "I just want to destroy the Chaos Sword, then we'll go and leave you." 

The burning eyes narrowed even more. "'We'? Ah, yes. Your companions." The daemon seemed oblivious to anything else I'd said. "You left them in the other room, did you not?" 

I froze only a split second...but it was too long. One clawed finger lifted and the fifty lesser daemons all leaped into the air and flew upwards into the red-tinged darkness with a great flapping of wings. 

"So, where are your 'friends' going?" I asked when my heart started beating again. 

He shook his skull-shaped head. "Really, I wonder what the Guardian sees in you humans sometimes. So stupid." 

Gritting my teeth, I raised the Blacksword a little. "If my friends are harmed..." 

The daemon feigned surprise. "Why, you knew where my brethren were going all along! You had me fooled, Avatar. I thought you were..." 

"Shut up daemon," I spat, my patience and calmness frayed perilously thin. "I am the Avatar of the legends, embodiment of the eight Vir..." 

"Yes, yes, yes," the daemon interjected with a bored note to his grating voice. "So what?" 

This called for a threat. I was a bit out of practise as the sight of Arcadion's sword usually did the trick of turning my foes' legs to jelly. "Tell me where the Sword of Chaos and Batlin are. Then you will let me climb down that ladder unhindered and tell your cohorts to keep away from my friends back there, or by Infinity, I'll rip you to shreds and let Arcadion get revenge on you for usurping his position." Boy, that was lame. But I'd set one thing in motion. Hopefully I'd find out if this daemon was the Shadowlord of Doom's servant as Arcadion had been the Shadowlord of Cowardice's. 

Again he shook his head. "Arcadion's powers are somewhat limited...unless you plan to release him?" When I gave no response, he went on. "And I think you'll find me more challenging than that fool Balinor." He drew a curving blade that was even blacker than mine, but it glittered and seemed to _suck_ the light from the air. This produced an aura of non-light around the wicked sword and just looking at it made me want to turn and flee. "As for your demands, the Chaos Sword is downstairs, Batlin has already departed, my daemons will soon be enjoying your humans...but let you pass?" He hefted his scimitar. "I don't think so." 

Batlin left without the sword? No, he had to be lying. "Then so be it," I said softly. 

"I will help as much as I can, Master," Arcadion said. "I have no wish to see this fiend surpass me." 

A frightening expression came over my adversary's daemonic features. "I already have." Then he charged me. 

I had little experience when it came to hand-to-hand combating daemons. Usually the creatures would shoot balls of fire at me in hopes of crisping me to a cinder, or use their wings to hit and run. The Crown of Lord British fortunately prevented the former. But the latter? This foe seemed eager to engage me in a duel. Me! The Avatar! I changed my train of thought. It wasn't because he didn't believe in my strength, it was because he wanted to prove he was stronger. 

His first attack was a flurry of blows aimed at my head and upper body. His sword was as big as mine, but his own size enabled him to swing the curved blade one-handed. 

The weeks I'd used the Blacksword had accustomed me to fighting with more unwieldy weapons, though, and the Black Gate quest had kept me in peak condition. So physically, I judged us equally matched. 

I parried, ducked, riposted, dodged, blocked and evaded with ease before getting any moves of my own on him. 

"Fire!" I shouted, leveling the Shade Blade at my enemy and jumping back. 

A think trail of fire snaked towards the daemon, who snarled, then spread vast wings to fly at me. Then the ground at his feet exploded upwards in a blast of furnace-heat and flames, completely enshrouding the daemon in red-gold light. 

Squinting, I peered into the blaze. 

"You'll have to do better than that!" the daemon shrieked. 

I was flat on my back before I'd even noticed the creature launch itself at me. His speed was impossible! 

A clang of metal and I felt like something had punched me in the stomach. Regaining my feet swiftly, I saw the daemon staring at me in stark disbelief. 

In a close-to-incredulous voice, he said, "You're not wearing the Mystic armour!" 

I risked a look at my breastplate. It bore a huge rent, which was actually peeling back like old paint and thin wisps of smoke rose up from it. This was not good. 

The daemon spoke again, his voice avid in anticipation. "This will be easier than I thought." 

I gripped the Blacksword tighter to hide the shaking of my hands, and attacked. 

The routine felt so familiar. If not for the direness of my situation, the flow of movement I'd used so often in the past might have lulled me. Some britannians likened swordplay to dance steps. The steps I danced to had a fast tempo and were comprised of elegant, even graceful movements. I wove in and out with my winged partner, arms and wrists flexing with supple efficiency, each action executed to perfection. 

I blinked blood away from my eyes that dripped down from a shallow gash across my forehead. The daemon had tried to fit the tip of his sword under the edge of the Crown to flip it off my head, but had failed. Arms aching with effort, I lifted and struck out again and again with a sword that grew heavier each passing minute. My hands were slick with perspiration inside the magic gauntlets and my body was sore all over. 

No, nothing elegant about this, I decided. 

We must have fought for at least an hour. Both of us had struck good blows, but I had been slow to notice one very important detail. The daemon's sword never failed to scar armour or draw blood, but mine continuously bounced off his body as if he wore some invisible force field. Even his wings, which should have torn like parchment against the razor edge of the Blacksword, were unscathed. 

I was on the verge of collapse and had only one card left to play. "Arcadion, death on my signal!" 

"With pleasure." 

I felt Arcadion's presence manifest itself within me as I continued to strike. Abruptly, my attack became more focussed, more heated...more lethal. 

Then my foe left himself open. 

"_NOW_!" 

The Blacksword plunged into the daemon's chest and incandescent lightning flashed across his scarlet body. The daemon screamed as I tore my sword free, the final pull tearing my shoulder muscles and blinding me with pain. 

I knelt before I fell, panting and waiting for my sight to return. Painfully, I managed to sheath the Blacksword without too much trouble. I took a deep breath of victory and let it out in a sigh, closing my eyes wearily. 

Then a strong fist clenched around my throat and lifted me into the air. "You have failed, Avatar." 

Breathing was cut off and my eyes snapped open to see fiery eyes surrounded by a black haze before the daemon hurled me across the room against the unyielding bronze doors. I felt something break and let out a moan of agony. Battle-instinct screamed at me to move or he'd be on me, but I had nothing left. 

Dimly, I noticed the daemon standing over my beaten body, sword poised. He was breathing hard, but unwounded and upright and victorious. 

"Valiantly fought, Avatar," he panted. "The Guardian has forbidden me to kill you for some reason, so I suppose I'll have to let your companions nurse you to some semblance of health before we cross blades again." 

I struggled to move, sit up, anything, but searing pain ran all down my back and arms and I couldn't feel my legs. 

"You know, it just occurred to me," the creature went on. "My Master told me to keep you from the Mirror Room. He said, 'Don't kill - fight.'" He paused as if considering something. "You're not from Britannia, are you?" A sinister smile. "That means you'll be down here a _very_ long time." 

I couldn't even shudder. He knew I'd never leave until I got the Chaos Sword first. But why hadn't the death spell worked? 

The sound of a door being opened. 

"Better luck next time." 

A kick pushed me through the door. 

"Until we cross blades again, Arcadion." 

A second kick pushed me into oblivion. 

***

"I warned you, Avatar." 

The chains binding me to the wall were made of Blackrock. The stench of sweat caused my stomach to roil. Where...? 

The Guardian paced before me behind a set of prison bars. He looked huge. Then I realised it seemed so because I was sitting with both my legs stretched out before me. Of course. I'd been crippled during my battle with the daemon. He must have broken my back or something. 

"Look at you. You could have had all the power of both your worlds! Now you'll spend the last of your days here." 

A prison cell? Small, dark, dank, bars, manacles - it fit the description. My armour lay in a broken heap nearby. It looked familiar... 

"A forgotten hero." 

I tried to think of some retaliation but my mind was foggy with pain and confusion. I wanted to shout out I was the Avatar of Britannia, friend of Lord British, protector of the shrines. A living legend. 

"Legends are dead. As is British. As is Britannia. The shrines are gutted ruins." 

So he'd won after all. I was too tired to care much. My eyes fell on the golden Ankh amulet which lay shattered on the cold, stone floor. Symbol of my Avatarhood. As broken as I. 

"And you are finally mine." 

My head raised as memories roused me. I stared balefully at the Guardian's ugly face, visions of friends and acts of Virtue lending me strength. 

"I will _never_ kneel to you!" 

He glared down at me. "I've won and you dare deny it?" 

"As long as I resist, your victory means _nothing_!" 

"_You_ are nothing!" 

"I am the Avatar! I will never be yours and neither will Britannia. As long as I live, the land _will_ live!" 

"Britannia is mine!" he shouted. 

"_I AM BRITANNIA_! You can kill me, but you will never break me!" 

The Guardian growled in anger. "Kneel or _DIE_!" 

What a way to go. "I'll _never_ kneel." I repeated. 

"Then die." He turned away and crooked a finger at someone I couldn't see. As he moved aside, the hulking form or a troll approached with a key in one hairy hand, and a barbed whip in the other. 

***

"_NO_!" 

"Quick, hold her down!" 

Hands forced me to lie down on something soft. A wet cloth landed on my forehead, whatever foul liquid it held seeped down my face. 

"Open her mouth." 

Someone poured a concoction down my throat and I coughed violently. 

"Elora, stop struggling! It's us! Thou art safe!" A human hand gripped one of my own. "See? It's me. It's Jaana. Relax." 

What was going on? I could barely see. A dream? Or had the cell been a dream? Maybe this whole damned quest to Dungeon Doom had been nothing more than a nightmare. I swallowed convulsively. "Where..? What's going on?" 

"That great bloody daemon kicked thee in the head and thou didst land out here," said Dupre's voice. 

"Maybe thou canst tell us what is going on." This from Iolo. 

Jaana helped me sit up and made me drink some more of what she'd given me before. Only now I recognised the restoring taste of a yellow healing potion. 

I relayed as much of the battle and conversations as I could recall, not sparing myself anything, not even the shame I felt. 

"That wouldst explain thy broken spine," said Jaana. "I healed it," she added when I looked at her in startlement. "Thou art almost completely recovered." 

"Thy recuperating powers art truly amazing, my friend," Iolo told me. "Canst nothing kill thee?" 

"He spared me," I said softly. "The Guardian has claims on my life." I stretched carefully, then looked at Dupre. "I'm sorry." 

He blinked. "For what?" 

"I should have listened to thee about the Mystic weapons." 

Dupre shook his head. "Methinks none of us were thinking clearly that day. There was much to consider." 

"No, Dupre. I was not listening to thee. It is my fault." 

"The mistake can still be corrected," Shamino put in. "Use the orb." 

"The orb hasn't worked since the generator was destroyed, Shamino!" I objected. 

"Then why didst thou bring it?" He waited for me to think of an answer then said, "Like us, thou didst believe that the orb no longer functions in Britannia. We are no longer in Britannia, Elora." 

"You're right, my friend," I admitted. "We're on the edge of the Ethereal Void. Do you think it will work?" 

Shamino said, "I hope so, and there's only one way to find out, as the saying goes. One of us can go through and find the weapons and armour." 

"We can open the moongate every hour," agreed Iolo. "Every minute if need be." 

"A sword is all I need," I said firmly. "Armour will help, but without a weapon, I will lose." I touched the Blacksword. "Trying to kill a daemon with a daemon did not work." 

"Like trying to put out fire _with_ fire," suggested Tseramed. 

"Or destroy evil with evil," agreed Dupre. 

"Arcadion is hardly 'good'," said Spark. 

I nodded somewhat glumly. "Don't take this wrong, but I think I should remain here." 

They exchanged glances. "No arguments here." 

"I'll go," Dupre stood and unfastened the scabbard of the Magebane sword. "I'll leave this here to use in place of Arcadion if thou dost wish. It may help." 

I had doubts about the sword that had been found in the ruins of Stonegate, the Shadowlords old earthly fortress, but nodded. 

"Wait!" Spark exclaimed. "If we brought a Virtue stone and marked it for here, Dupre would not have to wait for us to open a moongate!" 

I shot a question to Shamino with my eyes, but he shook his head and said, "We didn't bring any Virtue stones. Even if we brought one, would a Recall spell work between worlds?" 

"'Twas a good plan, in any case," said Iolo to the crestfallen Spark. 

I looked around for my pack but Shamino had already extracted the orb. He passed it to me and I closed the small, not quite spherical stone in my hand. "So which way is north?" 

"That way," replied Tseramed without pause. He pointed straight to the wall in which the bronze doors stood closed. 

I blinked at the archer in surprise. "Thou art sure?" 

"Positive." 

Wriggling around on my bedroll to face the indicated direction, I held out my hand to angle down a few feet away then opened my fist to uncover the orb of the moons. 

The orb grew suddenly warm and a horizontal sliver of crimson light materialised on the tiled floor. It rose up vertically in silence to form a shimmering red door. A moongate. The sight of it filled me with hope. It had worked. 

Dupre stuck his head through a second then pulled back. "It's the throneroom. Looks like it must be night over there." 

I reached up and shook his hand. "Good fortune, Sir Knight." 

"And to thee, Avatar." 

"_Attack_!" 

Umdelor's cry startled us all, almost as much as the sudden noise of beating, daemonic wings. 

I looked up. The fifty daemons were descending from a swirling black vortex set in the roof. Rather than wonder at all this, I jumped up, grabbed the Crown and shoved Dupre towards the moongate. 

"Go! _NOW_!" I screamed at him. 

The knight seemed torn with indecision. It looked as if he wanted to help fight the attacking monsters. Friendship and valor demanded it. He said, "But Elora! What if I can't come back through the gate?" 

I snatched up the Magebane before he could. "Dupre, GO! Or else we'll all die and Britannia will be doomed!" 

He dove through the moongate at that and I hastily closed it after him lest a daemon seek to follow. 

"Spark! Catch!" 

The boy neatly caught the Magebane. I knew it would be light enough for him to use, and a far better weapon than a sling, with or without great skill. I'd given him some instruction in swordplay myself. 

Belatedly noticing I was only wearing leathers, and barefoot into the bargain, I slipped the Crown onto my head and seized my reagents. "Jaana! Let's make some magic!" 

Either death didn't exist in the greater-daemon's room or it didn't exist in that particular daemon. In any case, these ones seemed mortal. Tseramed's hands blurred as he let fly burst arrows. He'd already felled five foes and wounded others who'd been caught in the magical blasts of his shafts. Shamino, Iolo and Umdelor were also doing considerable damage and the daemons weren't yet close enough to land. 

"Vas Uus Sanct!" I intoned, invoking protection on myself and my friends. 

"In Vas Por!" called Jaana and I felt her spell enhance my physical strength instantly, noting that the wounds inflicted on the daemons became more serious as the incantation affected the others. 

"Vas Des Sanct!" I unleashed the curse at the daemons as Jaana let fly an explosion spell. 

"Vas Flam Hur!" A detonation of fire and smoke erupted in the midst of the creatures. 

They landed and I released one more spell before drawing the Blacksword. "Quas Wis!" Shrieks of terror broke out from the daemons as the fear spell took hold. Several tried to flee. 

To myself, I whispered, "Let's see if these bastards bleed." 

It felt great to let out my anger on these daemons. I might not have been able to kill their leader, but these ones...with the Blacksword in my grasp, these daemons fell like wheat to a scythe. 

As Arcadion took the 'life' of a tenth daemon, I heard the doors open and whirled to see my winged nemesis appraising the carnage. Wondering bleakly if he'd engage me even now, I skewered a faltering enemy and sliced off the right wing of another. 

"Well done, Avatar!" the large daemon called, clapping in mock appreciation. 

This was too easy, even _with_ the Crown's protection. Shamino took out the last foe and I made a swift, visual evaluation of my group. Minor scrapes only. Even Spark seemed relatively unhurt. I faced the one standing at the threshold and tried to look confident. 

He leaned casually against the open door and raised a single, clawed finger. "Too bad it won't serve you any more now than it did before." 

I steeled myself. By now I was ready for anything. 

Except this. 

A red hand clutched my ankle and only reflexes spared me fang marks on my feet. Dispatching the daemon, I spun and noticed, to my horror, that every last one of the fifty daemons were coming back to life. 

And this time, they wouldn't die. 

"You can't kill something that's already dead, Avatar," shouted the greater daemon. 

Hacking off the head of a fiend who was stalking Jaana, I watched as the decapitated corpse stood and wandered over to where it's head lay. Then the body picked up it's skull and put it back on its neck, much like we'd put on a helm. 

This was bad. I might be under the Guardian's 'protection', but my friends were not. 

"Arcadion, restore my powers." Quickly, I followed with a Time Stop spell. "An Tym!" The daemons all froze. My companions continued to attack until they figured out what was going on. By then, I was holding the orb of the moons. 

"We will not leave thee!" declared Shamino, although one of his arms hung limp and he was using a magic sword instead of his massive hammer. "What if Dupre was right? We can go through the moongates from here, but will we be able to come back?" 

"There is no time for this!" I argued. "I won't die but you all will!" I opened a moongate to the Castle. "I promise to call thee back when I've dealt with him." I pointed to the immobile greater daemon. 

Jaana was already pushing a protesting Spark to the gate. "We shall help Dupre in his search," she said. "Good luck, Elora." 

Tseramed inclined his head at me then followed leaving my two closer - and more stubborn - friends behind. 

"Go!" I pleaded. "Look, I don't know if I'm right, but this is the way I see it. The location of the orb when the moongate is summoned is what matters. If that location is firmly anchored in the ether without disturbances, then the destination gate is secure." 

They looked unconvinced. 

"Ok, take it this way. When I opened the gate for Dupre, he stuck his head through and pulled it back without any trouble." 

That worked, even if a shadow of doubt still lingered. Hell, I felt the same way. They glanced at each other, then nodded. "Very well," said Iolo. The bard looked at me. "I very much hope that thou art right. The Virtues keep thee safe, Avatar. Don't lose that orb." 

Shamino smiled grimly. "And if the worst comes to the worst, cast Kal Lor." 

Time restarted and they quickly jumped through. I closed the gate and shoved the orb down the front of my shirt. It was the only place I could think of. The stone quickly warmed between my breasts and I watched the daemons mill around in confusion. 

"What trickery is this?" screeched their leader. "Where are your miserable comrades?" 

"Safe!" I shot back. "Call off thy pets!" 

The fifty maimed daemons instantly flapped aloft and vanished back through the vortex. A single red body remained lying on the floor. 

I then remembered who I had not seen entering the moongate. 

"Umdelor," I whispered, hurrying over. 

"Resurrect the dead renegade, Avatar," the daemon crooned. "And I'll send my followers back again and again." Then he strode back into his room, the doors booming shut behind him. 

Umdelor sat up. "At last." 

My jaw dropped. 

The gargoyle stood and flexed his wings. "To regret using deception, but to know it was the only way to remain here." 

"You.." 

"..pretended to be dead so that you would not send me back through the gate." Umdelor frowned. "My _jur_ to _vas-mir-vag-lem_ Johne stands." 

I cast my gaze around for any backpacks. Three were torn to shreds, a fourth lay spilled on the floor, one sat against a wall near the bedrolls and two were missing. Umdelor had probably hidden his somewhere, the cunning little... "What exactly did you swear?" 

He fingered one of his horns. "To have sworn that anything related to the Shadowlords or the Black Jewel of Mondain will be investigated by me. All information will be relayed to Johne." 

At least Jaana's things were still here. I picked up a roll of bandage and proceeded to swath my left arm in it. "To what cause?" 

"To say he still blames himself for many things, including the destruction of my world." 

Johne had found the jewel of Mondain in the Underworld of dungeon Despise when his shop had been swallowed by a whirlpool. The captain had come upon the shards, which had quickly driven him to madness. Using the shattered, sharp fragments, he had killed three of his companions - one his mage love, one his stalwart warrior friend and the third a travelling bard. 

From their blood, the story went, had risen the three Shadowlords of Falsehood, Cowardice and Hatred. 

They had captured and imprisoned Lord British in the mirror room of dungeon Doom, and freeing him had caused massive earthquakes and destruction across all Britannia and the land of the gargoyles. 

Eventually, the Underworld had vanished completely. 

"It was not his fault. I started it by taking the Codex." 

"No. Naxatilor started it when he brought the _Kodeks_ to our world from the Void. Johne still blames himself for what followed." 

"But what could he do in any case?" I tied off the linen wrap. 

"To observe he has helped you in the past." 

"That was in an entirely different matter," I pointed out sternly. "And you know that. Translating languages is one thing. Confronting the Shadowlords is quite another." 

"To say the point is, my promise must be honoured. To believe that what he does with the information is not what's important." 

"Anything that is concerned with the world's safety is important," I said severely. "You must go. You are no good to me or him dead." 

"Then to die is not an option," Umdelor stated simply. 

"That daemon doesn't want me dead," I told him impatiently. "You, on the other hand, are expendable." 

Umdelor sighed. "To not worry about me, Avatar." 

Suddenly, I felt tired again. I reached up and gave one of Umdelor's shoulders a pat. "I have to worry, my friend," I responded softly. "I don't want anyone to die because of my oversights." 

"The Mystic arms?" 

I nodded once and withdrew my hand. "I suppose there's no harm in trying." Pulling the orb out, I faced north and opened a gate. 

Tseramed's head poked through and I felt a wave of relief that the gates were clearly functional two ways. "Are they gone?" 

"Don't come through. It's safer where thou art." 

"Indeed. Avatar...is Umdelor..?" 

"He's alive and here," I sighed in exasperation. "Hast thou found the Mystic arms?" 

"Not as yet. I'm on watch here for the moment. Lord British ordered a search for the arms as soon as we left for Doom, so we have less ground to cover." 

At least Lord British had the sense not to listen to everything I said. "Any leads?" 

The ranger nodded. "Serpent's Hold and Skara Brae." 

"Skara Brae?" I exclaimed. 

"We thought Horance may know something." 

Giving a bewildered shrug, I asked, "Why not Jhelom?" 

"Our liege had Sir Sentri search there. Nothing." 

"Ok. I'll check back in an hour if I can." 

"Fortune be with thee, Avatar." 

"And with thee, Tseramed." 

He vanished and I let the red door sink to the ground and close. 

"To ask, what now?" 

I gifted my gargoyle comrade with a small smile. "We need to protect you." 

"But..." 

"No buts." I hunted through the wreckage of a pack and counted out all the rings. "Here. Wear there." I dropped a ring of invisibility and a protection ring into his hand. 

He slipped the latter on one finger then raised a hairless brow at the former. 

I stamped on some leather boots, tied back my hair and readied the Blacksword. Armour was useless, but I could at least try to look like a hero. "Put on both of the rings, Umdelor," I said. 

Then I approached the bronze doors. 

***

"Avatar. What an unexpected surprise." 

I noted the fifty lesser daemons - several holding severed body parts - gathered around the ladder, their leader towering over them. He leaned casually on his dark sword. 

"Sleep well?" he asked maliciously. 

The nightmare came back to me and I shivered mentally. "Why the concern?" 

He chuckled. "Just making sure An-lor Zu-quas wasn't making your life hard." 

Dark night-illusions? Nightmares? "The name of your weapon, I suppose." 

"But of course. You know why it is called thus." 

Had he seen what I'd dreamt? "So what do I call _you_?" 

The daemon gave an irritated shrug. "And here I hoped we'd have another nice workout." 

My shoulders tensed. 

"Names are so trivial. I've had so many, you see. You may call me...Prilem Xencorp." 

King Daemon? No...Daemon King. "That ambitious, are we? You may have fifty cronies, but stuck in this hole hardly makes you..." 

"With the almighty Avatar at my mercy!" snapped the monster. He calmed then said, "Call me what you will. Flamvol, Anavatar, Kalansaegkt," he shrugged. "I am the Daemon of Doom." 

So I was right. "Is there a Shadowlord of Doom as yet?" I inquired casually. 

He grinned. "Maybe...maybe. You'll find out eventually." 

"Is it Batlin?" 

"That puling, weak, human mage?" he exclaimed so incredulously that I felt very strongly he was acting. "Never would I serve him!" Fiery eyes narrowed. "Didn't you believe me when I said he'd left?" 

"I still don't." 

The daemon waved a clawed hand. "No matter. You will never catch him, or kill him. That much I know." 

"Yeah, yeah." I considered the odds of getting back through the door before he closed it. Then I figured it may be to my advantage to fight again, consequences aside. If I could learn his tricks... 

He lifted his sword. "If that's all, we can spar again." 

My stance shifted quickly and the Blacksword leapt into my hands, poised. "How about 'Quaskorp'?" 

"'Fear'?" the creature translated skeptically. "More appropriate for Arcadion..." 

"'Illusion of death,'" I corrected softly, a smile teasing my lips as I broke up the two syllables of Quaskorp. "'Illusion,'" I repeated pointedly. 

The daemon stalked up to me and pushed the point of his sword against my chest. I had to bite my lip to keep from flinching as a dark sensation gripped my heart. 

"This is no illusion," he snarled. 

"But it is," I disagreed steadily. "Bluster, mock, wound, terrorise me all you like." I forced myself to stare the daemon in the eye the way Lord British did all his subjects. Pride without arrogance, power without tyranny, confidence without fear. "You can't kill me - won't kill me. An illusion of death." 

"Taste the reality!" he shrieked, the curved blade slicing across my face. 

I stumbled only a little as the steel drew blood. Restraining the impulse to touch my sore cheekbone, I kept my gaze locked with his. "Courage always conquers Fear." 

"'Lor-ra!" he sneered. "Light of Valor! You claim to be a..._Lightlord_ of Courage?" 

"Of Spirituality." 

He actually backed away a step. I caught my breath, but he instantly recovered and took back his lost ground, raising the scimitar to strike again. "Then Doom is stronger, _Lightlord_. I claim victory." 

This time, I reacted and parried the blow. "You won't win until I lie dead!" 

"Your virtues will not protect you here! What does your precious Codex have to say now? The Avatar humbled before a daemon and bending knees to the Guardian!" 

"_This_ is what the Codex says," I shouted, blocking another attack. "'Be of good Courage and it shall strengthen your heart!'" I counterattacked, pushing him back towards his followers. 

Three smaller daemons jumped me, leaving me open. I threw one over my shoulder, disembowelled the second and kicked the third in the head. "'The Truth shall set you free!'" 

Quaskorp screamed in rage and charged me. 

"'Love never fails!'" 

My sword bounced off him but I'd put enough force behind the blow to knock him back. 

"And your Spirituality?" he spat. 

"'We have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power - " I thrust with all my strength. "And love - " I evaded his counterstroke and arced my sword high. "And of a sound mind!" The Blacksword crashed down on the daemon's head. 

He stumbled back, I jumped at the ladder and grabbed a rung with one hand. 

Quaskorp seized me by the neck and lifted me up. "Nice try. This time, I won't let you off so easily." So saying, he dropped his sword and lifted the crown off my head. In a single motion, he closed his fist and crushed Lord British's magical crown. 

I struggled to breathe as the daemon lifted me up to eye-level. 

"Now hear the words of the Guardian. 'Hatred stirs up strife, all men are liars, fear controls the weak-minded. When desire has been conceived, it brings forth evil, and evil, when it is full-grown, brings forth _death_!'" 

He threw me out through the open door and I skidded across the floor to a halt. Sitting up, I looked back and saw fire...quickly followed by oblivion. 

***

The water ran down my face and I coughed a little as some trickled down into my throat. "Enough," I croaked, slitting my eyes open. "Umdelor?" 

He nodded. "To say your burns are severe. To not be very good at healing." 

My skin felt tight, as though stretched. "Pass me the reagents and I'll do it myself." 

The gargoyle handed me ginseng, garlic, spider silk and mandrake root, then I cast "Vas Mani!" I tingled, but nothing happened. 

"The spell failed?" Umdelor suggested. "Try again." 

I took the reagents he offered and recast the spell but to no success. 

"The rings of Regeneration ran out," he explained in an apologetic voice. "They healed you a bit, but..." he left it hanging. 

"No fault of yours," I replied. My voice was strange to my own ears. Harsh and rasping. "Did he throw a fireball at me?" 

Umdelor nodded. 

"How bad do I look?" 

He looked at me hesitantly. "To say you could almost pass for a gargoyle." 

I closed my eyes and lay back. "The Crown?" 

"To think...here." 

My eyes shot open again and rested on a mangled ball of crushed gold in Umdelor's hand. 

"He threw it after you." He passed it to me and I felt the familiar weight in the unfamiliar shape. 

Tears stung my eyes. I could only think of one thing to say. "Lord British is going to kill me." 

Umdelor shook his head slightly. "To think he would miss you more than a crown - no matter how magical." 

I cupped the broken crown in both hands. "Rel Sanct Ylem." The gold expanded. I kept my mind on the spell and mentally reshaped the Crown until it was fully repaired. 

"How is this possible," asked Umdelor. "When healing failed to work?" 

I set the Crown down on the floor and asked for more reagents, then retried healing. 

No effect. 

"Something must be wrong," I said. "Has anything else happened?" 

"No. No daemons, nothing." 

I relaxed as much as I could again and lay down. "Then I think I will rest." 

***

"Someone comes." 

I woke instantly and glanced around. Umdelor had already put on the invisibility ring for I couldn't see him. Grabbing reagents, I lay still and feigned sleep. The sound of wings came first, then of snarling voices. Two daemons, I decided. 

I sensed a shadow fall over me and felt heat as one of them peered closer at my 'sleeping' form. In a language I'd never heard before, a daemon sneered a string of words and laughed. The other daemon spat something back and a clawed hand roughly grabbed my face. 

"Poor Avatar," it hissed. Then it shouted something over its shoulder and its companion jeered...then blurted in surprise as the daemon crouched over me was blasted backwards in an explosion of fire and dark blood. 

I stood carefully, tied the blanket around myself and faced the second daemon, casually brushing a piece of wing from my face and putting forth the impression that blowing up daemons was a common past-time for me. 

He appraised my un-avatarlike condition and smirked, then drew a fiery sword from thin air. I picked up Arcadion and raised a threatening eyebrow at the ambitious foe. 

He sneered. "You are stronger than I thought." 

"It will take more than your master's hellfire to kill me." 

"Maybe. Maybe not. We know that to kill you invites death." 

"Why?" I challenged. "Who wants me?" Alive? 

The daemon's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Umprilembal." 

"But who? _Who_ is the Shadowlord of Doom?" 

"The one who holds the Sword of Chaos!" he screamed, as if the words had been forced out of him. He swayed slightly and I felt sure he'd attack, but he stood his ground. "The one who will kill you!" 

"Oh, really? What makes you so sure that he can?" 

"You don't know how to stop him from doing so." 

I really hated fencing with words. "Arcadion...can you pry anything out of him?" 

The Shade Blade shuddered and Arcadion's voice barked something at the daemon who made a move not unlike a soldier coming to attention. Then his eyes became slits of cunning. 

"You hold no authority over us anymore - " the name he gave Arcadion was incomprehensible. "Our rightful ruler arrived years ago!" 

"You will answer!" snapped the sword. "Who has supplanted me?" 

The daemon let out a chilling laugh. I began to appreciate that although the lesser daemons were underlings, few could be accused of being stupid. "The one who holds the Scimitar of Nightmares." 

I heard Arcadion mutter, "And I can't kill him. I am not strong enough." 

I remembered what my friends had said about trying to combat evil with evil. "In this case," I told Arcadion, "your strengths make you weak." 

He was silent a minute and I kept an eye on the waiting hellspawn. "You will have to explain this to me, Avatar." 

"Later," I responded. I belatedly noticed that the pieces of the mutilated daemon were disappearing but by bit. To the 'living' daemon, I said, "So now what?" 

"Your move," it hissed. 

"Well, why did you come in here?" 

"Our lord wanted to know if you are fit enough to provide a good fight later tonight." It regarded me critically. "A little burnt...but still capable as you showed before." It snickered. 

I frowned then winced as the movement irritated my red, blistered skin. I was glad that there were no mirrors in the room. While not beautiful - I didn't even consider myself pretty - I was all the more sensitive about what I looked like. "Is there a field that negates healing spells over this room?" 

The fiend adopted a cautious expression. "Maybe." 

"Tell your 'lord' that I will come if he lowers the dampening spell. Then we will fight." 

The daemon bowed mockingly. "Avatar." Then it leaped up and flew back into the vortex and vanished. 

"To ask if you are _mad_?" demanded Umdelor, causing me to jump at the unexpected voice. The gargoyle materialised before my eyes. "Rest!" 

I shook my head and picked out reagents. The healing spell worked. I ran a hand over smooth skin and touched my hair just to check. "Do we have any clothes here? Quaskorp burned the ones I was wearing off my body. I wouldn't look very impressive if I went to fight him naked." 

Umdelor frowned, but went pack hunting. He came back with a padded leather vest and pants. "Only these." 

I dropped the blanked and dressed, still feeling a bit ill. Putting on the boots - which had survived - I considered the Crown, then said, "Umdelor, you wear the Crown. It will be safe with you." 

He retrieved the royal circlet and nodded silently. 

"Now, where's my Ankh?" 

"To point out that you wear it still." 

I brushed a finger against the amulet in surprise and craned my neck to look at its still-lustrous golden sheen, undamaged by the fire. "Well...good." I paused. "In fact, if gives me an idea; Flameproof." 

Umdelor nodded again, without smiling. 

"Lighten up, will you?" I finally said. "What's wrong?" 

"To not believe you can win! Not like this!" 

I looked him in the eye. "I won't die," I said. "But if he comes out here, you will." 

"To not believe you are doing this to protect me." 

"It's one reason. But it's true. If it will make you happy, I'll check back at the castle first and see if they've found anything." 

"To agree." He turned and went back to the packs. 

I started to reach for where I had put the orb of the moons, then froze. I could almost feel my heart stop as I slowly pieced together the past events. Fireball, clothes destroyed...orb...gone! Broken or lost? I stood still, immobile with despair. 

"Avatar?" 

Umdelor must have seen the sick expression on my face. "The orb..." I began in a whisper. 

He extended a hand and opened it to reveal the polished black stone. "Here. To have found it. It fell to the floor after _he_ threw fire at you." 

I sighed in relief, thankful that I hadn't sent the gargoyle away with my friends. Taking the orb, I used it to open a gate to the castle. The red door was barely halfway up when Jaana came completely through, almost bent double. 

"What are you _doing_?" I exclaimed. 

"Checking thee," she retorted, tossing back her long, pale blonde hair over one shoulder. "And don't tell me thou art fine. I know the signs of stress, weariness and the effects of a hastily cast healing spell when I see them." 

I had NOT expected that last bit. "Sometimes you amaze me." 

"Thou art easily amazed, my friend." Setting down the case she carried, she opened it to reveal all manner of potions. "Slowly!" Jaana cautioned as I eagerly grabbed a yellow vial and swallowed the restoring liquid in a single mouthful. 

"That feels so much better," I said contentedly. 

"Umdelor, wouldst thou..?" 

"Of course, Inmanilem Jaana." He took the case carefully and carried it over to the other packs. Jaana turned back to me. "Dupre sent word from Serpent's Hold. He read an old book belonging to the armourer which speaks of significant weaponry. The Mystic arms have been in Serpent's Hold and were studied closely, then were sent back to Castle Britannia. But according to the logs in Britain, the ship never arrived! However," she continued as I groaned. "There were reports made by the survivors of the crew. The ship wast attacked by pirates and driven east almost all the way to the Isle of the Avatar." 

"If there were pirates, how do we know this is accurate information?" 

Jaana shook her head. "It's the best lead we have. Besides, the pirates never boarded the ship. Both were caught in a whirlpool. Several crew members had apparently given up and tried to escape in skiffs before it appeared, so they saw it all at a safe distance. Both ships were taken down according to the records. Lord British had shipping logs hundreds of years old dusted off and read by scribes in both Britain and Trinsic. Neither show receiving the swords or armour." 

"Do we keep records that old?" 

Jaana smiled wryly. "I asked the same thing of out lord. He said, ''Tis wise to keep a record of everything, milady. Thou dost never know when one might be useful.'" 

"Looks like that wisdom paid off," I quipped. 

"Don't lost heart. Listen, dost thou think perhaps that the whirlpool was a sign?" 

I chewed the inside of my cheek. "Like that the Mystic weapons aren't needed up there?" I gestured at the roof. 

"Aye. So maybe they are back where thou didst originally find them." 

"But Jaana, that's a lava lake in the dungeon Hythloth! It would take weeks to get down there and back, plus the time to find the swords and armour!" 

"Do we have an alternative?" 

I shut my eyes and whispered, "No, and I am sorry for anyone who goes down there." 

Jaana said nothing. Then, "I am more sorry for thee having to endure this place. Dost thou love Britannia so much?" 

Meeting her compassionate gaze, I nodded firmly. "I do." My eyes went to the bronze doors. "And now I must prove it again. Thou shouldst go." 

"Very well. Good fortune and may the Virtues guide thee." 

"Oh, wait! Ask Lord British to set guards over the Eternal Flames. We can't let Batlin get the shards." 

Jaana nodded her understanding then swiftly moved her arms in a complex shape. "Vas Mani!" 

The greater healing completely restored me. I tried to enjoy the feeling for as long as I could. I knew the future would hold pain in abundance. 

"The Virtues guide thee, Avatar." Then she slipped through the red moongate and I allowed it to close. 

"Grim news with but a glimmer of hope," murmured Umdelor. 

"Indeed." Picking up one of the pinkish potions, I drank quickly to avoid the bitter aftertaste and waited for the confident, protected feeling to come into play. "Here I go." 

Crossing to the doors, I said, "Arcadion, renew my magic." 

I felt him comply. "This may be the last time I can do this, Master. I gain no strength from killing the dead." 

"Terrific. Maybe I can prevail upon Lord British to send in a few giant rats." 

He ignored the sarcasm. "Meagre fare." 

"Indeed." To Umdelor, "Rings on." 

I threw the doors open wide. 

***

For almost a full month I fell into a virtually mindless routine of pain, blood, fire and death, thought the latter - the one I began to long for - always eluded me. I would rise, fight, lose, heal, rise and fight again...and again...and again like a never-ending cycle. A living nightmare against the dead. The potions ran out fast and I began to give up hope after several reports of no news from the Castle. 

Umdelor kept me hooked firmly to sanity, but after every fight, I could feel myself slip a bit more. My sleep was haunted and seldom restful. We both knew lack of sleep would drive me crazy and on two occasions that I remembered, Umdelor had forced an orange sleeping potion down my throat. 

But they didn't stop the dreams of horror. 

He had offered to listen what they were about, so I'd told him the first one, then added that they were all the same every time. It was only a partial lie. The dream was the same but for one thing. Me. Each time my defiance of the Guardian was coming a little later, the hesitation was becoming slightly longer...I was growing weaker. 

Umdelor suggested meditation. All I could focus on was my failure. 

***

The Guardian growled in anger. "Kneel or _DIE_!" 

How I wanted to end it all. I started to move into the final, restful, submissive pose... "_I'll...NEVER...KNEEL_!" 

"Then die." 

***

"_NO_!" 

"Avatar!" 

I stared at a daemonic face and lashed out with my fists in blind fear. The creature staggered back, blood smearing the left cheekbone. I blinked in bewilderment. The blood was the wrong colour. 

"Avatar! To be Umdelor!" 

The shadow abruptly passed. "Umdelor? Oh, by Infinity..." 

"To be fine." He looked at me. "Quaskorp won again." 

Fear won again, I added silently, bitterly. I shuddered. "Is there any food left?" 

"Some." He hurried over to the packs. "Only jerked beef and bottles of water." 

I had no magic to spend on creating food or healing by this time. Mental fatigue was draining my morale almost as much as physical tiredness. 

"Are you going to check the Castle today?" he asked. "It has been seven days, by my count." 

What's the point? "A week? Already?" 

"Please, Avatar." 

The title shamed me and I sighed deeply. 

"At least for better food and healing?" 

Nodding slowly, I stood, brushed back tangled, unwashed hair and opened a moongate. 

Through it flew a shrieking, winged creature which almost bowled me over. My first thought was 'harpy', for it had feathers, but when it circled the room in obvious confusion, then alit on a precarious perch above the doors, I more than changed my mind. 

"Am I dreaming?" 

"To say not unless we both are," Umdelor answered. 

"Umdelor...that's an Earth bird!" 

The bird raised its vivid yellow crest and hissed at us. 

"That gate leads to my home!" I exclaimed. 

"To be sure?" 

"It has to!" 

"So...you are leaving us?" 

There was only frank curiosity in the question and my excitement died like a snuffed candle. "No, of course not." The bird ruffled snowy white feathers and shrieked again. I hoped Quaskorp couldn't hear it. Then again, maybe it was a trick. "No, I won't even look through. That will make it worse." 

"An Ex Por!" 

The cockatoo froze in the middle of stretching a wing. Umdelor flew up to its perch after casting the paralyze spell and took the animal down carefully. Then he carried it back to the moongate and tossed it through, cancelling the spell at the last minute. 

I shut the gate behind it and sighed wistfully. 

"Avatar?" Umdelor said after a while. 

"Sorry. Just thinking." 

He didn't mention that it had been five minutes. 

I raised another moongate by which Dupre came in. 

"'Tis about time!" he exclaimed. "Look! We did it!" 

His words barely registered. "What?" 

"We did it! We found the Mystic arms and armour!" 

I shouted aloud in pure exultation. "YES!" Then asked, "Well, where are they?" 

A grin split his beard and he stuck his head back through the gate for a minute. I got the impression he was shouting. Then he was back. He motioned at the armour he wore. "I wear one of the suits." 

Noticing it for the first time, I blinked. The 'metal' was a shining silver with golden inlays and etchings on elbow guards, boots, shoulder plates and helm. There might have been more, but it was concealed beneath the bright red tabard he wore over it all. The cloth bore a white outline of a sword. 

"A sword?" I asked, to which he nodded. 

"We did not remember either. Thou shalt soon see." 

And we did. Shortly, Jaana emerged wearing an orange surcoat over her armour. It bore a tongue of fire, or a teardrop. Then followed Iolo wearing yellow with a heart, Shamino in blue with the image of a book, Spark in deep purple bearing a goblet, and Tseramed in green in green depicting a set of balancing scales. 

"To ask how you found a suit to fit Spark?" Umdelor asked. 

Jaana shrugged. "They all just...fit," she said, as if that explained everything. "Tseramed and Shamino...?" 

Each held a bundle and I received Shamino's, unwrapping it to reveal another armour set with a dazzling white surcoat bearing a golden Ankh. As it was with most magical stuff, the equipment was light and showed no scars or dirt. Jaana helped with the straps and I felt the armour settle on my shoulders, moulding itself to my form. I strapped the Blacksword across my back again then belted the Mystic sword to my side, but I didn't unsheathe it yet. 

"I'd completely forgotten what this feels like," I said. 

"It is indeed incredible," agreed Tseramed, plucking at his surcoat. "Though I still prefer my bow." 

Iolo chuckled. "I share thy sentiments, Tseramed." 

"To find it more incredible that this armour was made for a gargoyle," interposed Umdelor. 

Dupre had been helping him dress and shook his head in bewilderment. "The backguard is almost completely made up of light mail and scale to let his wings through! And the helm..." 

Umdelor turned the helmet around so we could see inside it. It was ribbed cunningly to allow room for gargish horns. Dupre aided Umdelor to don his black tabard, again woven to accept wings. Pulling on the silvery gauntlets and the helmet, Umdelor ran a finger over the white shepherd's crook on his tabard, then said to me, "When questing, to remember having a conversation with a dragon. She seemed a prophetess of sorts, who lived apart from her race and sought knowledge on things beyond Britannia. The Kodeks, the Guardian, you..." I blinked. "She shared a prophecy with me and said that it would be useful to an old friend of mine - but at the time I was unsure of her meaning. Now it is clear that this message was for you. To say it as I remember it. 'Put on the whole armour of Spirituality, that you may be able to stand against the wiles of Doom. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the Ethereal places.'" He cleared his throat. "To remember no more," he finished in embarrassment. 

"By Infinity," I uttered. "She was right!" I pointed at Umdelor. "Humility," Dupre, "Valor," Jaana, "Sacrifice," Spark, "Honor," Tseramed, "Justice," Shamino, "Honesty," Iolo, "Compassion." I finally tapped my own breastplate beneath the golden Ankh insignia. "Spirituality." 

"By the Virtues," whispered Iolo. "We did not even see it!" 

"But this prophecy is metaphoric," Shamino said to Umdelor. 

He blinked in confusion. "Met-ah-for-eek?" 

"Symbolic!" 

"Ah! Yes, symbolic!" 

I waited. "Of what?" 

Shamino nodded emphatically. "Dost thou not see? It speaks not of swords and metal armour and physical battle, but mind fighting! 'We do not wrestle against flesh and blood but against principalities and powers!'" 

"'Against the rulers of the darkness of this age,'" I added softly. 

Tseramed said, "I think I see where this doth lead. First, we combat the 'spiritual hosts of wickedness' beyond that door...with the mystic arms?" Shamino nodded and shrugged at the same time. "Then against this 'ruler of the darkness' with our minds. We had better believe in the Virtues, then." 

"And the 'ruler' must be the Shadowlord of Doom," I said. 

"If it's Batlin," announced Spark. "I get to kill him!" 

A stray thought crossed my mind. And if it isn't? 

***

"Ah, Avatar, you brought your friends with you this time!" Quaskorp appraised us swiftly. "You actually look like the legends stories make you out to be." He rested fiery eyes on me. "You finally look like how I first envisioned the Avatar. Impressive." Then a cruel smile crossed his face. "Though I think I can see a tired, weary, despairing face behind that helmet." He stood straight and brought up his scimitar of nightmares. "But it will take more than trappings." 

I stepped closer. "This time, I will see your master." 

Quaskorp shook his horned head. "This time, you will die." 

I ducked under a vicious head slice then side-stepped a downwards cut. Jaana had healed me before we'd entered the room and though I felt unwounded, I was still tired. And the daemon lord knew it. That's the reason why he scored a glancing shoulder strike. 

His blade bounced off in a shower of sparks without effect on the armour or even the surcoat. He drew in his breath sharply. 

"What is this?" he snarled. 

I drew my Mystic sword in a fluid motion and held the weapon before his eyes, exhilarated that this time...this time I could beat him. The blade shone like white diamond, glowing with a pure, inner light. "This," I said. "Is your ticket out of here." 

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his skull-face, then it was replaced by fury. "ATTACK THEM!" he shouted to his daemons. "_You_ may survive," he sneered, "but _they_ will not!" 

As the horde flew past, I watched Spark cut a daemon down. It fell, then vanished in a puff of greasy, scarlet smoke. 

Quaskorp had seen it too. He sighed. "Let's make this quick, Avatar. After all, if I don't kill you here and now, we'll meet again after you confront my master. I will be reborn!" 

"I fail to see your logic," I allowed myself a small smile. "But I _will_ make it quick despite all that pain you caused me." 

Dark fire rippled up Quaskorp's blade. "Then let it be decided now!" 

My sword shot out white beams of light. "Agreed!" 

Our blades clashed together in a flash of silver flames. 

Both of our attacks were guarded, for although we had crossed swords many times before, this was a somewhat unique fight. We both knew I was the more experienced warrior - had I possessed the Mystic sword in any previous encounter, odds were I would have won. But also, in every previous encounter, Quaskorp had never been trying to kill me. In my mind, I again considered us equal. 

Quaskorp tired of the testing spar first and soon pressed his assault against me with savage strength. I countered with ease as the combination he used was familiar to me. When he soon started to improvise his attacks, I ducked under a sweeping stroke and thrust upwards at his chest. 

He moved left, but too slowly and reeled backwards with a bloody puncture in his right side. It was the first time I'd ever drawn blood on him, but I didn't shout in victory or even smile. It wasn't over yet. I drew back and waited, the dark blood disappearing from my bright blade as Quaskorp regained his balance. 

"You won't be able to appreciate the kind of agony you put me through, Quaskorp," I said, my voice slightly thick with emotion and memory. "But maybe this will give you an idea of what it felt like." 

He raised claws smeared with his own blood to his face and almost smiled. "Foolish mortal. Daemons thrive on pain!" 

"But not on your own," I corrected. 

The melee around us was dying down. There were perhaps half the original number of daemons, the rest were completely gone, vanished or escaped. None of my friends lay on the floor. 

Quaskorp again rose to his full, impressive height and spread his wings wide. "You should have worn the Crown!" he screeched. 

Crimson-gold flames enshrouded me, but didn't touch me. The heat couldn't even break out a sweat. I stepped through the intense light and stopped just at its edge so that the flames licked around my shoulders, head and legs. 

"You will have to do better than that," I said softly, throwing his own words back in his teeth. 

He pointed and a black death bolt sped towards my chest. I swung my sword and unerringly deflected the bolt away at another daemon who staggered drunkenly and then vanished before hitting the floor. 

Quaskorp hissed in a deadly voice, "You think yourself powerful, _Avatar_. Without that weapon and armour, you're as weak as...as a human!" 

I lashed out and he defensively closed his wings around himself like a giant shield. But the Mystic sword tore a bloody rent in the leathery hide instead of bouncing off as the Blacksword would have. 

The daemon screamed and opened his wings again, attacking in a fury of anger and pain. I countered but felt my weariness coming back slowly and inevitably. Already my thrusts were slower and it took longer for me to dodge and recover. The battle around us had concluded and my companions, victorious, stood around us in a wide circle. 

"Finish it, Avatar!" I head Dupre shout. 

I twisted my sword on a parry and the dark blade fell to the floor with a dull clank. I pressed forward quickly, driving the daemon back. 

Suddenly, he stopped. There was something in his hot gaze that made me hesitate. Then he unfurled his bleeding wings, stood tall and threw back his head. With a voice that shook the room, he shouted, "EVIL WILL TRIUMPH!" 

Stepping forward, I lunged. The Mystic sword thrust deeply into Quaskorp's chest until the only thing preventing it from going further was the golden hilt. Daemon blood bubbled around the incision and I backed away as the mortally wounded monster moved his arms in what looked like a hellish incantation. Then he faltered and an expression of glee crossed his face. He fell backwards, the impact against the floor forcing the white sword to pop out of his chest and land on the tiled floor beside him. 

Picking it up warily, I circled the spasming wings to stand at the daemon's head. He was still alive and I wanted to kill him quickly, not out of mercy, but because I wanted to get on with the quest and had no wish to leave _him_ - no matter how bad his condition - behind us. 

Quaskorp growled at me. "We will meet again soon, Avatar. Your weapon and armour mean nothing against what you plan to..." he coughed harshly. "...to go to next." His smile was frightening. "You have no idea how to win." 

I raised my glowing sword and replied, "But I will." The downstroke severed his head and I noticed the surprise on his face before his corpse dissolved into black smoke with a hiss of finality. 

"What about this?" Tseramed asked, gingerly touching the nightmare sword with his boot. 

"I'll take care of it," I said, striding over. With a single stroke to the weapon's flat, it was shattered and also turned to smoke. Sheathing the Mystic sword at my side, I faced my friends. "Thanks, guys," I said with a tired smile. "You came through for me just in time." 

They smiled and said not to mention it, but Umdelor pulled off his helm and interrupted. "No, Avatar. It is you that came through for us. To know of the choice you faced at the Black Gate - the option to go home. You stayed. Even in the terrible condition you were in before, you still remained. To know you to be worthy of respect and thanks." 

I tried to forget the pain as my gargish fan explained the Guardian's second attempt to tempt me into going home, to my human comrades. But it lingered at the edge of my mind and it hurt. More so if I tried to face it. I'd thought beating Quaskorp might bring me release, now I knew I was wrong. "So what is it that bugs me?" I whispered softly. "Not Quaskorp..." 

"Fear, Avatar," murmured Arcadion at my right ear. "You're afraid of being afraid." 

Arcadion didn't usually have anything insightful to offer but this made sense. Fear wasn't new to me, ages ago I'd learned to control it, defeat it, pit it against courage...so why did it emerge so strongly now? 

Guardian-enhanced, was my first guess, but it seemed too trivial, though still probable. 

"Do we descend to face Batlin now?" Spark asked. 

I nodded quickly. "Yes, of course. Do we have everything?" I made sure the orb of the moons was still close to my heart, then that Dupre had Rudyom's Wand. "Good. Follow me." 

***

I descended the ladder carefully, not wishing to end my career with a broken skull caused by excessive haste and little heed. _Finally_, I could end this and take some time off. Much needed time off, I amended. Maybe around Cove... 

The ladder was very long and despite the lightness of my armour, I was hot and sweaty when we eventually reached the landing. 

Swiftly, I drew the Blacksword instead of the Mystic one. It had grown to be a habit drawing my weapon from my shoulder. I noticed my mistake, but still kept the Shade Blade in hand as I inspected the change in surroundings. 

A richly furnished room. My eyes slid past the canopied bed, bookshelves and carved oaken table to the object at the far end of the room. A mirror the height of an average man. Through it, on the other side, I could see a shrunken, black-robed figure. 

"There," I said to the near breathless Dupre at my side. "It's him." 

"Short, is he not?" observed the knight. 

"Batlin was always a pompous little man in my opinion," I said with a smirk. 

He grinned and nodded. "What's the plan?" 

"We go straight through the front door." 

He sighed. "I guess there's no other choice." 

I sobered. "No, there isn't." I clapped his shoulder. "I'll fight him and when I give the order, use the Wand to destroy his sword." 

"What if we think thou art in danger?" 

"_Only_ when I say to," I repeated. 

He fingered his moustache. "As thou wishest." 

"Don't worry," I said. "We'll win. When have we not?" 

"Just be careful of that Chaos Sword, Elora. We still know not its powers." 

I nodded and sheathed the Blacksword. 

"How do we get at him?" Spark demanded. 

"Spark..." I went down on one knee so it wouldn't look like I was talking down to him. "I will fight him." 

"But thou wilt let me slay him?" the boy pleaded. 

"It won't bring your father back." 

Tears filled his eyes and I was forced to remember how young he was. "But it'll make me feel better!" 

"No, it won't. Next you'd go after the Fellowship leaders in Trinsic." I paused. "Wouldn't you?" 

He frowned darkly. "If thou dost slay Batlin, I will never forgive thee!" 

Iolo intervened. "There is a chance that the creature in there," he pointed at the mirror, "isn't Batlin." 

"But if it is, I get him!" insisted the boy. "Let me!" 

"And if it is, I get freed," Arcadion whispered in my ear. "Remember." 

"I will," I said aloud. "No, Spark," I added when his eyes lit up. "I will kill him, not you." 

"Fine!" he shouted, clearly upset. "Thou didst not need me on this quest at all!" 

I stood. "I won't argue with you any more. I will fight whoever is in there and then destroy the Chaos Sword. After that, we can leave this hellhole." 

"'Twill be good to return to my cottage," said Iolo. 

"'Twill be good to return to mine ale!" added Dupre. 

Spark looked sullen. He had nothing to return to. I took pity on him and drew the Mystic sword. "Kneel." 

He blinked. "What?" 

"Kneel, Spark," I repeated. 

He did so stiffly, dropping to one knee. 

"How many daemons didst thou slay in the previous battle?" 

Spark shrugged. "Six, I suppose." 

"A worthy number, especially against such odds." I noticed Dupre nod slightly. He knew what I was doing. "Who are thy parents?" 

The boy's head snapped up as if I'd punched him in the face. 

"Recount thy lineage, boy," instructed Dupre, softly. 

Spark obeyed hesitantly. 

"And hast thou renounced all thy family ties?" 

"I have none. So, yes." 

"Then wouldst thou consider service to Britannia?" 

He gulped. "What art thou offering me, Elora?" 

"Something to go home to, Spark," I said gently. "Knighthood." 

His eyes widened and he pointed at Dupre. "Thou wantest me to turn into _that_?" 

Everyone smiled, even Dupre after his initial spluttering. 

"But thou must understand," I went on. "That a knight is a warrior of honour, valor and justice. Honour-bound to their liege, lord and country. Valiant in battle while only fighting for the Virtues and never for personal gain. Just and fair in protecting the innocent and chastising the guilty." Spark looked more and more depressed, but my impromptu ceremony continued. "As a companion of the Avatar, thou also standest in high regard and thine efforts for her cause have been noteworthy. Dost thou accept the charge of knighthood, first as a squire, then guard, then paladin of Britannia?" 

Spark's voice was a barely audible whisper. "I do." 

"And dost thou accept the code of knighthood, of honour, valor and justice?" 

"I do," he repeated more firmly. 

I looked at the only knight present. "Sir Dupre?" 

The knight stepped forward. "I have seen this young man in battle," he declared. "He hath talent and I will gladly vouch for him if he desireth knighthood." 

I glanced around at the others in turn, at Iolo, Shamino, Jaana, Tseramed and Umdelor. "Ye all are witnesses to this." 

They voiced their assent and I once again looked down at Spark, then lightly touched his shoulders with my Mystic sword. "Rise, Squire Spark, future knight of the realm!" 

The boy rose awkwardly to the sound of his companions clapping enthusiastically. "I guess this means I am not permitted to kill Batlin," he observed shrewdly. 

I nodded once. "I'll do it for you." 

"Art thou not a knight?" he asked, surprised. 

"No, I'm an Avatar." I traced the Ankh symbol on my surcoat. "There's a difference." 

"Elora serves all the Virtues, Squire," said Jaana. 

"Well," Spark said. "If thou must kill Batlin, make it slow. Not too slow; he might escape again." 

I nodded slightly. "No fear of that." Then I noticed Umdelor step forward and direct a slight bow to Spark. 

"To acknowledge you are a child no longer, Squire," he said in gargish. 

I translated, then added, "He'll call you 'Betmeklem' now, Spark. It means Squire, I believe." 

Spark thanked Umdelor as I turned to face the figure in the mirror. You couldn't tell who it was. The black robe concealed every feature and on top of that, the 'reflection' was sort of hazy. 

"Do we advance?" Dupre asked suddenly. 

I nodded. "Yes. Let us end this." I tightened my hold on the Mystic sword and approached the mirror, the others following, though with their weapons sheathed. 

With a steady hand, I touched the gold-chased frame, recalling the intricate details of the carved leaves and thorny branches circling the mirror, the shine of it undiminished in this unchanging prison. 

I looked into the mirror where my own reflection should have gazed back. The glassy surface glowed faintly, though it was a sinister aura. 

"Come on, Avatar," I whispered to myself. "Get him." 

Without another thought, I reached out my left hand and placed it flat against the smooth surface of the mirror. 

*** 


	3. Spiritblade

**

The Dark Realm

**

_Book 3 - Spiritblade_

by Shadow of Light Dragon, aka Laura Campbell

An icy feeling washed over me for a brief second, but long enough for the chill to make me shiver involuntarily. There was the sensation of forward movement, then I was through, looking at an exact replica of the room I'd just left save for the eerie green cast on everything, lack of a way out...and for the black-robed, self-styled Shadowlord of Doom standing in the middle. 

As my companions came through the mirror behind me, I swiftly evaluated the stranger. 

Shorter than I, but the voluminous robes were pooled around the floor at his feet. Not a bit of skin was visible, not even from the sleeve-concealed hands that clasped the hilt of a jet black, diamond-studded sword. 

"So we failed," I thought. "Batlin got the sword. But at least he didn't get Mondain's Black Jewel." 

As if hearing my thoughts, the hands on the Chaos Sword moved to shift the sleeves which hid the crosshilt. I heard my friends shift uncomfortably, for there, in the dark metal, rested the Jewel. As black as a fragment of the night sky and just as empty of feeling. The white jewels marching straight down the center of the blade winked mockingly like stars. 

"Oh, crap," I said, then sighed. 

"Avatar...we set guards over the Eternal Flames, I swear!" said Iolo. 

"I know." I reached back and touched the pommel of the Blacksword. "Arcadion?" 

"I cannot tell who it is," the daemon said reluctantly. "But he is under a magical protection and he possesses much power." 

I gazed at the Jewel I had shattered so long ago. The three remaining shards that rested in the hilt of the Chaos Sword seemed to fit together in a perfect circle, without visible stress lines or cracks. "Is he a Shadowlord?" I asked presently. 

A whisper of undefinable voice echoed through the room. "I am the Shadowlord of Doom." 

"Shut up, Batlin," I said. "Drop the sword and surrender." 

We listened to the echoes of my demand bounce around on the walls and the robed-one didn't reply. I motioned for the others to stand their ground, then stepped forward until I was within striking range. "Arcadion, is he a Shadowlord?" I repeated. 

I felt the Blacksword physically shudder. "He is more." 

"Great," I thought. Aloud, "The Fellowship has been disbanded, Batlin." 

No response, though I thought I detected a flicker of emotion. He didn't speak back, but it would take more than silence to make me feel irked. 

"Lord British sent me to bring you back, but he didn't say how. Small pieces sounds good at this point of time." 

Nothing. The head remained down, the face sunk in the deep, impenetrable shadows the large cowl provided. 

"Give me the sword," I said softly. "You still have a chance to redeem yourself, but not like this." 

He lifted the sword and I came on guard instantly. 

"Batlin..." I began warningly. I wasn't worried about a fight. He was a mage after all, even though he had once been a warrior. I had never seen him with a weapon in his hands and doubted his skill against mine. 

Then again, I only had a vague idea of what kind of influence the Sword of Chaos would have on him. 

The Sword lashed out and I barely deflected its path towards my chest in time. 

"Batlin," I repeated. "Look, I don't want to kill you. The Guardian used you, but you can still make up for the wrong you did!" 

"Nothing can make up for what I have done," came the whispered reply, which again echoed through the room. "Wouldst thou forgive a Shadowlord?" 

I parried a second stroke. "No," I admitted. "But you are only the Shadowlord of Doom if you want to be." 

"I am the Shadowlord of Doom because of this!" he brandished the sword and attacked. 

It quickly became apparent that Batlin was not going to move from where he stood, so I abandoned the idea of tripping him over his cumbersome robes. Where I gained in arm length, I lost by using the shorter Mystic Sword, whereas the Chaos Sword was two handed. I was amazed that Batlin possessed the strength to wield that thing. I circled around behind him. "Then drop it and be free!" 

He turned fully around in a fluid motion. The heavy robes, which should have twisted at his movement, came around smoothly and unobstructively - as if he stood on some kind of turntable, I mused. 

"I cannot," he replied, executing an inelegant two-handed swing. 

Dodging nimbly, I said, "Then give it to me!" 

Batlin paused. 

I extended my left hand, offering. 

Then..."No. Thou dost mock me. Thou hast not the power to wield this weapon without fear." 

Whipping my hand out of the way as Batlin's blade descended towards it, I stepped to one side, then ducked in and cut across at his waist. The Mystic Sword rebounded off the black robes as if they were magically reinforced steel of maximum quality. The reverberations up my blade caused me to stagger and I quickly moved back out of range before Batlin could gain an advantage. 

"Magical protection?" observed Spark. 

"The Mystic Sword should have sheared through that cloth with ease," seconded Shamino. 

When my sword finally stopped wobbling, I let the point drop and watched the robed figure carefully. He had also lowered his sword and stood as we'd first seen him on entering the Mirror Prison. 

"Avatar," said Umdelor. "Remember what we spoke of before. Perhaps you truly cannot defeat him in a physical battle." 

"I think you're right," I agreed. "But there may yet be another way." I faced Batlin and repeated, "Give the sword to me." 

"What wouldst thou do if I did?" he replied. 

"Take you back to Britannia, for one," I said. "Then we can destroy the sword the same way we destroyed the Black Gate." 

"The sword is not even the greater half of the power I hold." 

I shook my head. "Maybe not. But will it free you?" 

"I know not." 

I stepped closer, slowly, my sword held in an unthreatening position. "You know me, Batlin, if your Book of the Fellowship is any indication. I can handle that sword long enough to rid Britannia of it." 

"Thou couldst not control it last time." 

"I've changed since then." 

"I hope it's enough." 

The words caused me to blink. 

The Shadowlord continued. "But thou _hast_ changed. Thou dost walk more deeply in fear than ever before." 

Unmoving, I waited for further words, but he had finished. "I am not afraid," I said, wondering deep down if I truly meant that. "Don't worry about me. Give me the Sword. You can still redeem yourself!" 

He stirred slowly, then lifted the Chaos Sword. I raised my sword in response, but he reversed the blade and offered the hilt to me. "Redemption," he whispered, almost longingly. 

I quickly took his sword, realising too late that it might not be such a good idea. I tensed for a surge of evil against my mind, but there was none. 

A chuckle emanated from beneath the black hood. It gained volume fast and was soon a full-blown maniacal laugh. Then, abruptly, it cut off into dead silence and the head snapped up. From the darkness, two fiery eyes stared balefully at me. As the short figure became taller, only then I realised how much I'd underestimated Batlin's master. 

"Guardian," I whispered, backing away. 

He was now taller than I - taller even than the daemon lord I'd just vanquished. He was huge! One arm rose and the black sleeve fell away to reveal red skin and yellowed nails. The hand reached up and pulled back the hood. 

"Oh damn," I said, despair threatening to overwhelm me there and then. I was in his arm's reach and he towered over me, the robe no longer spread out around him, the hem now lightly brushing the floor. He didn't _need_ the sword! All he really had to do was step on me! 

He laughed. 

I swore. 

"Come now, Avatar," he said. "I told you it was a trap." 

The hand holding the Sword of Chaos was starting to sweat inside its gauntlet. Forcing lightness into my voice, I replied, "I thought we already got through it." 

He shook his scarlet head, still grinning. "That was a mere test. You won, though even I had my doubts. You defeated my daemon. I can't have a failure serving my cause." 

"What cause?" I asked, frozen to the spot. I knew that to flee was to die. 

He was momentarily silent, then gestured at the Chaos Sword. "Look into the Jewel." 

I kept my eyes stubbornly away. "I'll not be trapped." 

He sighed tiresomely. "If you wish to know, you will look." 

My eyes flicked of their own accord to the Jewel and were transfixed. I tried to speak, but my lips wouldn't move. All I could do was blink. 

"Knowledge costs much, Avatar," the Guardian said. "Watch and learn." 

Visions played before my eyes in the Jewel's depthless facets. Faces long forgotten overlaid features of friends, superimposed on those of foes. 

The Guardian spoke. "When I broke from my former Master," he began, his Voice betraying a sense of self-contempt that he himself had been a 'servant', "taking with me those who followed my cause, I vowed to bring all races to fight under my banner against his tyranny." He chuckled. "I quickly found that people thought my laws much more appealing than my former Master's. And while it is nearly impossible to change the ways of all beings on any world, it is simplicity itself to win the majority." 

I mentally nodded. Hate and lies came more easily from one's lips than love or truth. He sensed my understanding. 

"Yes. So, after I have established a foothold in a world, I can enter it through my followers." 

I watched a scene taking place in the Jewel. A dark-haired woman held up a small black stone before a mass of people who chanted in a strange dialect. Suddenly, the woman shouted a single word then threw back her head in pain as the stone flared. The people leaped back in fear...then the woman recovered. She was different. More powerful, dynamic, strong...evil. I could almost see the waves of darkness rolling off her like steam. She raised the stone again and the masses cheered with insane fervour. 

"That one is now ruler of her world," the Guardian said. "And a mighty warrior. Perhaps the mightiest. Maybe, Avatar, the time will come when you look each other down the length of a blade. My will fuses with the one who holds my...power source. If there is sufficient resistance against my conquest, I enter the world in person and set all right. But," he added. "It is rarely necessary." 

I shivered as the woman seemed to look straight at me before vanishing in a whirl of other images. 

"The leaders are useful in keeping my worlds loyal, as well as...converting those who are not." I heard the tinge of amusement to his Voice. "In Sosaria, Mondain gained my totem and proceeded to change the world." 

Mondain? Mondain's Jewel! Really spooked now, I tried to drop the Sword of Chaos, but couldn't even open my fist. The Guardian either didn't notice, or didn't care. 

"The Jewel of Immortality, it was called. The ruby jewel that harnessed the power of an entire sun! An affection referring to the colour of my eyes, I believe," he said with a mirthless chuckle. "The Black Jewel of Mondain. Thus it was after Mondain used it for its real purpose, not the meaningless tasks his father used it for. But before Mondain could summon me through it..." 

The Jewel showed a reflection of a younger me clutching a sword. There was barely time to register all the emotions that suddenly rose within me before the Jewel flashed white. I knew I had broken it. Centuries ago, anyway. 

"You broke my Jewel. Shattered it into many shards." He laughed suddenly. "Not the first time a 'hero' tried to stop me." 

Fleeting glimpses of following events reached my eyes. Minax and Exodus...both thwarted by me. 

"They were also tests of a sort," he said. "Like this quest. Testing you. As was the Quest in which you became the Avatar. I encouraged Lord British to help and he summoned you and charged you to become the 'embodiment of the Virtues.' I was sure that if you failed, self-hatred would make it easy to influence your mind." 

He was probably right. Defeat at the daemon lord's hands had almost driven me to the brink of surrender. 

"I threw all manner of obstacles in your path but you won past each one!" There was an element of disgust in his tone. "Thus was born the Avatar." 

I saw myself kneeling before Lord British, then the scene shifted and I was reading from a golden book. The Codex! 

"In moving the Codex of Ultimate Wisdom, my next plan started," purred the Guardian. "The earthquakes set off much destruction and heralded a new age. My age. Three of the shards of my Jewel - the largest and most powerful - were dislodged and lost in the new Underworld, where they were eventually found by a traveller - captain of a ship downed by a whirlpool. Fortuitous." 

I watched an unnatural storm gather and the sea became a mad vortex of water. A great ship was pulled towards it as passengers dove from the sides in terror, but not all escaped. The ship went down and smashed into the middle of a large, underground lake. 

Then a vision of a man taking up the shards was shown. Captain Johne - Umdelor's friend. No stranger to the terrible mind-touch of the black shards, I would have wept, had I been able, as Johne turned on his three remaining companions and slew them with the dagger-sharp remnants of evil. I had never seen the whole story of how this had all happened - this probably wasn't even it, but it was more than I'd know previously. 

The corpses flared with incandescent light, then inky mist rose from the blood spilled by the shards, which took the forms of black robed wraiths. 

The Shadowlords. 

"With my power source divided, my power was divided. The mortal had raised the jewel and through it and him I entered Britannia, left his body and tried to regain my own." Anger burned in his Voice now. "I was divided against myself! I could still travel through the void and become whole, but my only way into Britannia was as three separate...antivirtues." He paused, then added softly. "It was enough." 

The Shadowlords picked up the shards and whisked them away. 

"Soon I found that I could not take the Jewel to the surface or even join the pieces together, so I concealed them in the Underworld until a suitable vessel could be found. Such was the power of division." 

The gem clouded and I was soon looking into a black cavern. Dark cliffs rose on either side of a grey river. Then a light appeared on the water and came closer. It was a flaming torch held in the hand of a mail-clad warrior. He and several others sat in a small boat that drifted slowly down the river. As the craft reached the closest point of my 'vision', a hooded figure looked up from the stern and I found myself staring at the kindly face of Lord British. 

"The perfect bait," the Guardian whispered, taking me completely off-guard. "I still had my sights set on the Avatar. Harnessed with my ideal, she would be invincible!" 

"_But...why not possess Lord British_?" I asked silently, confused. 

"Lord British was always too much of a pacifist. He always called you in to do his...dirty work. _You_ were the fighter." 

Returning my attention to the Jewel, I watched Lord British's company get slaughtered by the denizens of the Underworld, then looked on helplessly as the three Shadowlords themselves appeared and spirited the king away. 

"Next I went to Blackthorn and pledged the immortality and power of the Black Jewel to him if he obeyed me. He was more than willing," he added reflectively. 

I couldn't even frown or grind my teeth. I had never known Blackthorn before the rise of the Shadowlords, but common rumour was that he had once been noble and honourable. He had not been the only one to fall prey to the lust for power promised by the Guardian. 

"As you know, I had my followers forge a sword which I left in Blackthorn's keeping as a deposit of sorts. He knew that the Sword was the object that would reconnect the shards so he assumed that, since he had the blade, he would be the one to wield it. At my order, he named your companions outlaws. For this there were three reasons: they would not be able to oppose what Blackthorn did after usurping the Crown, they would not gather to summon you before I was ready, and if you _did_ get here, they would be too fearful to travel with you." 

"Seems like thou wert mistaken on all three counts," I heard Iolo say 

boldly. 

"Perhaps. You may have formed a Resistance, but it did little without the Avatar." He dismissed the subject of the group formed to oppose Blackthorn and returned to his story. "Through the Discussions between Blackthorn and the Shadowlords, the new Lord of Britannia discovered that I meant for the Avatar to raise the Jewel. So in jealousy, he affixed your name, Elora, to the outlaw records and hid the Sword of Chaos." In a Voice seething with controlled rage, he continued, "I was forced to act early. Despite Blackthorn's disobedience, he was still useful and I couldn't kill him yet. So I secretly aided your companions in calling you back to Britannia." 

Someone - probably Shamino - gasped. 

The Jewel pictured a man casting metal, a dark-shrouded figure behind him. In short order, a silver coin the size of a man's palm was extracted, already cool from the magic upon it. Then a young Shamino entered with someone who might have been Mariah in her youth. The mage took the coin and cast another spell on it which caused the amulet to shine brightly. The light pierced the cloak of the black figure who recoiled, then vanished. 

"I didn't bargain for interference," the Guardian muttered. "That spell was meant to mask the summoning of the Avatar, so I had to keep careful track of everything after that." 

"_This is getting boring,_" I thought. "_I know what happened - I won, you lost_." 

The pain that suddenly wracked my body was beyond belief. Fiery knives stabbed my brain and cramps twisted muscles in thighs and shoulders, cold flames erupted in my chest slowing my heartbeat so much that my vision darkened dangerously. 

"You _will_ listen. You _will_ understand. You _will_ obey me!" 

The sudden termination of the agony hurt almost as much as enduring it. If not for the paralysis, I would have fallen, but I could do nothing. No outward signs showed my friends that anything had even happened to me. 

*"_It will do no one any good if you die now, Avatar_,"* the Guardian's thought Voice caressed my bruised mind. Then he spoke aloud again. "I found you when you answered their call and was going to speak to you, but your friend drew his sword and attacked me. So I struck him down, yes, but _did not kill him_." 

Shamino said, "What sayest thou? Thou hadst no wish to slay me?" 

"That is so. I needed allies, not corpses." 

"I don't believe it," Iolo muttered. 

"Your belief is not required, old bard." 

I sent out the thought, "_I already know what happened next. I showed you the coin and it forced you to flee._" 

"And things progressed from there," the Guardian continued. "I stationed my three forms at different cities each day hoping to speak to you, but..." 

"_You attacked us whenever we met you_!" 

"No. You attacked me." 

Visions danced through the gem, confusing me. "_No._" 

"Yes, Avatar. Attacked without provocation." 

The images continued, a blur of colour and motion, things I remembered and had forgotten, things I had been and now was... 

"You never thought to speak to us." 

...swords flashing and magic sending its aura of power in all directions, shadows real and imagined and substantial stalking the land... 

"Of course, you spoke to others, but they didn't even trust _you_ - their Avatar - did they? Is this your notion of loyalty and friendship from a land that you have 'rescued' time and time again?" 

...through it all, a single question seems to be shouted at me, every time I speak to anyone they always ask the same question... 

"_WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON_?" 

...Lord British, Mondain, Minax, Exodus, the Time Lord, Blackthorn, the Shadowlords, the Resistance, the Oppression, the Gargoyles, the Britannians, the Fellowship, the Guardian... 

I no longer knew. 

And it scared the hell out of me. 

"You eluded me again at Stonegate so I had no chance of telling you about the shards that you were, by now, intent on destroying." He paused. "Then you found the Sword of Chaos Blackthorn had concealed. At least that showed me the sword's primary power worked. Didn't it?" 

My eyes widened. I held the Chaos Sword at Shamino's throat as he stared at me with a mixture of horror and disbelief. With an inarticulate growl, I slashed at him and jumped past, the sword feather-light in my hand. I ran to engage Geoffrey...but...Geoffrey was at Castle Britannia! 

The vision passed, but my heart was pounding. 

"When you found the shards and returned them to the surface you cast them into the Eternal Fires and banished me from Britannia. So I waited." 

Fire. It ignited the Black Jewel even as it showed them sweeping through a village in an angry red blaze and incinerating everything. From the thick smoke came one bearing a familiar face twisted by evil. 

"I waited decades for someone to leave themselves open the way this fool did. Sending the ghost of Mondain into this mage's body created what you called the Liche-lord. It was he I used to aid my return. The first living being to set foot in Skara Brae after its obliteration was Batlin of Britain." His Voice took on a mocking note. "Did you ever wonder what the 'profound spiritual experience' he wrote of in the Book of the Fellowship was?" 

***

The Liche-lord bowed low to the young man and I heard his rasping voice say, "The Guardian of Britannia bids thee welcome, Batlin of Britain." The undead led him to where a mighty dragon struggled behind a tower of Blackrock. Shimmering, mystic chains bound it to the ground and it strained against them with its considerable might, instinct demanding that it take wing and get airborne. Seeing the puny creatures below it, it shrieked in fury. 

"Thou hast training in the arts of magic, Batlin?" 

The man nodded. 

"Then defend thyself!" 

No sooner had the liche spoken then the dragon, roaring in pure anger, poured a tremendous gout of fire over them both. I could see a faint nimbus around Batlin signalling a Flameshield. 

"Good," said the liche. "Now slay it." 

Batlin blinked. "I? Kill a dragon?" 

"If thou hast not the power to kill this animal," said the liche harshly, "Then neither my Master nor I have any use for thee." 

Batlin frowned. "Thy Master is this Guardian of whom thou didst speak?" 

"Yes," is hissed. 

"What hath he to do with Britannia?" 

The undead form of Mondain smiled a frightening smile. "He comes to guide us. He is our Guardian." 

"I am unconvinced." 

"Thou shalt know all afterwards, Batlin of Britain. Slay the beast, for it is in league with the Enemy, then my Master shall send thee on a quest. Upon completion, all shall be revealed." 

The dragon howled and tried to break free with a mighty pull. Failing that, it crouched low and bared gleaming fangs the length of shortswords. It looked half-dead from fatigue already and its eyes were dull. Strange noises were emitted from its mouth, short growls and snarls as if it were trying to speak, but could not. 

Batlin incanted. 

The dragon screamed and snapped its teeth at him, then convulsed and dropped dead, the death bolt momentarily sheathing its body in violet fire. The vast wings folded and crumpled around the great body. 

"Well done," whispered the liche. He stood silently for a time. "My Master says, "Go to the three keeps of Britannia wherein lie the Eternal Flames and stand before each in turn. Shout the name of thy Master out then take what is revealed to thee and return here.'" 

"Who is my Master?" questioned Batlin. 

"If thou knowest not the answer to that, the simplest of questions, then thou art a fool." 

Batlin looked at the dead dragon, then the liche. "Very well. I shall return." 

The Liche-lord nodded. "That would be wise." 

***

The Jewel went black. 

"Batlin went to the Flames," said the Guardian. "He went years before your return, Avatar. This plan has been a very long time in the making." 

***

The Jewel showed me Batlin again. He stood before the Eternal Flame of Love in Empath Abbey and seemed undecided. He didn't move for a long while before he straightened his shoulders, lifted his head and yelled, "Tir Mordreth!" 

The Flame went out like a snuffed candle! Batlin approached the extinguished marble basin and reached into it. Drawing back his hand, I saw he held a midnight black shard. It was small, as if the confinement had diminished its size as well as its power. 

The change in Batlin was instantaneous. Doubt was replaced by certainty, fear with determination, indecision by ambition. 

Good was traded for evil. 

***

"Not evil," corrected the Shadowlord of Doom. "Just a different purpose." 

_"All I can see is evil."_

"You don't understand. But you will." 

_"Tir Mordreth is your Name?"_

"I think you already know the answer to that, Elora." 

***

The dragon had already started to rot. Before its massive head was a newly erected altar onto which the liche placed the shards. 

"Hear us, Master," called the liche Mondain. "Once again thy power is present, but still it lies shattered and lessened by the accursed Avatar. It is beyond MY power to call thee into Britannia, as thou knowest well. But this mortal, Batlin of Britain, would serve in my stead. Wilt thou accept him?" 

Fire encircled the altar in a ring and from it came the Guardian's Voice. 

"Batlin of Britain," he said. 

The man stepped forward and knelt before the fire. "Here, Master." 

"Thou hast done well. I would meet with thee and tell thee of my Cause. This, then, is thy sacred quest. Take the shards of the Gem of Immortality and bring them to me." 

"Master, where art thou?" 

"The Jewel shall lead and protect thee. Come now." 

***

_"So he came here? How did he get past all the barriers?"_

"With the shards, I could instruct and aid him. The shards were by then too weak to maintain the forms of the Shadowlords, but Batlin had strength enough to use the magic necessary." 

_"But the Word of Power..."_

"Veramocor? You thought I didn't know how to unlock my own door?" He asked mockingly. "Yes, he came here. My only link to Britannia through the ether. Fortuitous that the Sword was here, also. Batlin put the shards in the sword and they joined, united again! I came. I spoke to Batlin and found him willing, but lacking. More than ever I wanted the Avatar, so I educated Batlin in everything you did, in Britannia's history. Then we planned to bring you back to Britannia." 

_"Then what was the real deal with the Black Gate?"_

"Had I entered, I would have conquered Britannia," he said with a note of indifference. "But chiefly, it was to capture you. I knew by now that I would only be able to convert you in person, so I stranded you in Britannia. I sent Batlin to dungeon Doom after he performed a few...tasks, I left an adequate message with the wisps, then I planted the thought of the Sword of Chaos into your mind." 

That wasn't good. 

"And it worked." 

That really wasn't good. 

"And here you are." 

My mind worked furiously to think of a way out. 

"The beauty of my Sword is that whoever holds it, when it bears my Jewel, will become more than willing to serve me." 

No...this couldn't be happening... 

"So now," the Guardian whispered. "All you have to do is hold it up, and call the name of your Master. Then you will be mine and you will dethrone Cantabrigian British!" 

I felt the stasis on my body vanish and lifted my head up to look at the Guardian. Words of defiance formed on my lips...but escaped my mouth in a gasp of surprise. 

My left hand, which held the Chaos Sword, was raising of its own accord. Slowly, teasingly. 

Inexorably. 

"I'll never say it!" I shouted. "_Never_!" 

"Yes, you will," he answered. "And you will kneel." 

"I'd rather die!" 

"Avatar, drop it!" shouted Dupre. 

"I can't! It...it won't let me!" 

"You can't fight it," the Guardian murmured, his Voice almost lost amidst my futile grunts of exertion. "It is a part of you. Embrace it and become whole." 

I released the Mystic sword and grabbed my left forearm with my right hand, but instead of slowing the ascent of the Chaos Sword, it was helping it. I half-sobbed with fear. 

"_Attack_!" yelled Spark. As if his voice had been Commander Geoffrey's, the companions drew weapons and rushed the Guardian's titanic form. Umdelor took wing and flew at his face. 

The Guardian laughed. "Can you smell the scent of battle, Avatar?" he taunted me. 

"No!" I shouted, afraid the Sword would make me engage my friends. "_Fall back_! This is my fight!" 

But they either didn't hear, or didn't listen. 

The Sword of Chaos passed my brow, the Jewel drew level with my eyes and once again I was captivated by it. 

"_This_ is my cause!" 

A positive maelstrom of images assaulted my every sense. With each image, scent, taste, feeling and sound came a thought, and emotion, an idea...an ultimatum. Self-awareness, knowledge, power, ambition, rejection, banishment, anger, revenge, hatred, deceit, fear, revenge, strength, cunning, revenge, defeat, Revenge, victory, revenge, _Revenge, **REVENGE**_! 

As I struggled to think coherently, I realised I now held the Sword of Chaos up high, both hands clasping the black hilt above my head, the diamond-studded blade pointed straight up. 

The Guardian's driving force was the need for vengeance! I felt that he somehow knew he'd never defeat his former Master for some reason, but the Guardian had planned to take as many races, planets, galaxies and _everything_ to destruction, to complete obliteration as he could. 

"It was always made more interesting when my former Master sent an Avatar to try and save worlds I took over. Sometimes the Avatar knew from whom it had been sent, sometimes it didn't. Often it never does. As in your case, some aren't even divine! But never, until now, have I been able to corrupt one to my cause." 

I shuddered, sick to my very soul. 

"Britannia, Aglaterre, Etheron, Kilrah, Scaeduen and more has he tried to save." He laughed. "One of our agreements was that he could only send one saviour to each world. If I was able to take one of these saviours, not only would I gain the world he was trying to protect, I'd also open a link between my powers, and those of my old Master." 

I blinked. I had no powers out of the ordinary. 

"Not yet, you mean. You just have not been exposed to the right circumstances. You potential is great. When your powers are maximised, I will be able to use you to take over half the universe!" 

_"What will that gain you?"_

"You have no concept of what this pitiful universe means to him," the Guardian sneered. "He created it. He cares for it. Destroying it will gain me my _revenge_!" 

I strained to throw down the evil sword and again break the foul Jewel, but couldn't. 

"Know one more thing, Avatar of Britannia. Defy me here and you WILL die. He cannot send another to replace you. Britannia will be mine one way or another." 

Umdelor suddenly landed before me. "To have been listening. Remember, this fight is not in the flesh, but between souls and spirits in the ethereal planes! Here you cannot best the Guardian!" 

"Then where?" I asked desperately. 

The gargoyle tapped my chest. "To fight in your heart," then my forehead, "and your mind," both his arms spread out, " and your spir-_aarrghhhh_!" Umdelor fell, consumed by black lightning. I saw the shadowy form of the magic arrow that the Guardian had sent protruding from between the gargoyle's shoulder and wing blades. 

"_Umdelor_!" I roared, not able to save him. My call brought my human companions running. 

Umdelor's wings trembled in spasms and the horn-crowned head turned to face me. Eyes already dimming met mine and he said in gargish, "Britannia an-tim pos-tim est an-eks." Then his eyes were dark. 

Jaana shook her head silently and took her hand from Umdelor's neck where a pulse had used to beat. 

Spark wrenched out the dark arrow and snapped it in two, then turned away. 

I looked up at the sword, then at the victoriously grinning Guardian. For a long time, I stood still. Then I looked at my friends and said, "Wish me luck." 

Dupre started. "Avatar...?" 

Swiftly lest I change my mind, I screamed out a single name. "_TIR MORDRETH_!" 

***

_She looked around, wondering where she was. On every side, deep, velvety purple mists rose up like walls made of the very shadows. The floor was made of some smooth material that was warm against her bare feet, though invisible beneath a thick layer of dark fog. Above, stars whirled in a celestial dance and streaks of coloured fire sped across the black sky. Comets. _

She lowered her emerald-green eyes and looked herself over. She wore nothing and a thought came to her that she should feel ashamed or afraid...but she didn't. Why should she? 

Shrugging slightly, she shook her head at the strange thought and started walking towards the shadows. They closed round her, warm, inviting, comforting. A sense of well-being came over her accompanied by a strange hunger she didn't understand. 

The shadows seemed to whisper words. "Embrace us. Become one with us and you will be made whole." 

Indeed, she felt divided, as if a part of herself was missing or being restrained. 

"Let go..." the shadows whispered. "Let us heal you." 

More curious than afraid, she walked further into the mists. Without alarm, she wondered if she was lost. The shadows pressed in on all sides... 

Then she saw the mirror. 

As tall as she was and circled by a frame encrusted with glittering, translucent jewels, the beautiful looking-glass was topped with a black sigil that teased her memory. 

In a gesture seemingly born of instinct, she raised a hand to her throat and connected with a small object chained about her neck. Only this one was gold. 

Releasing it, she approached the mirror, confused as a reflection appeared in a full suit of black armour and holding a diamond-studded, midnight-black sword. The reflection removed its helmet to reveal her own face. 

For a minute, she wondered on which side of the mirror she truly stood. 

"And that's the question isn't it?" the reflection asked softly. Her own voice. "On which side do you stand? Whose side are you on?" 

"Whose side are you on?" she echoed in a voice that was equally soft. 

The reflection strode up close to the mirror and placed a black-gloved hand against the glass. "I am on your side," she said. "And you are on mine. We are on our own side. We serve ourselves. Join hands with me and make us whole. Let me show you what you have lost." 

She stepped closer and placed her own bare hand flat against the palm of the reflection. The barrier seemed to fall away and their fingers laced together. 

The black armoured reflection smiled...then the shadow-walls came crashing down around them. 

***

The companions watched in an awful fascination as the Guardian's form turned indistinct like a bodiless red mist. As the heavy black robe fell to the floor, the mist drifted across the room then infused itself into the Sword of Chaos until it glowed like burning metal. 

The Avatar stood motionless, her Mystic sword lying on the floor. A faint gleam of perspiration sheened her brow and her face was the perfect definition of calm. 

"Is she winning?" Spark asked in a subdued voice. 

Mondain's Jewel suddenly became the point of focus to which the red light centered. It was soon shining like a live coal, the sword once again black and the diamonds pinpoints of white fire. 

"Arcadion," Shamino called. "Canst thou answer us?" 

"I can," replied the daemon. 

"Dost thou know how Elora fares?" 

"She is...unaware of herself." 

The companions exchanged puzzled glances. 

"What meanest thou?" asked Dupre. 

"She is...divided." 

Dupre grabbed Rudyom's Wand but Tseramed and Iolo stopped him from pointing it at the Chaos Sword. 

"Not yet!" Iolo ordered. 

Tseramed said, "We know not what wilt happen to Elora if thou dost use the Wand now!" 

Then Arcadion let out a howl of despair. "She embraces Doom! She has left us! She comes with the Guardian's will!" 

The Avatar's face bore a sinister smile. 

Dupre shook off the two archers and pointed the Wand, aiming for the Jewel in the hilt of the Chaos Sword. 

"By the Virtues!" Shamino choked, for the red glow now stained Elora's hands and it was creeping down her arms. 

"Dupre, _no_!" shouted Tseramed, aiming a kick at the knight's hand. But the kick landed just as Dupre fired and there was an explosion of Blackrock and sooty flames. 

The Chaos Sword's blade splintered and the resulting fireball knocked the Avatar off her feet, but the red glow fled back up to the Jewel, which still rested unscarred in the hilt. 

Rudyom's Wand skittered across the floor and stopped before the Avatar's feet. 

She opened her eyes and lowered the broken sword. An expression of profound regret and sadness came over her face as she glanced at each of her friends, then finally at Dupre. Sorrowfully, she whispered, "I told you not to do that." 

The red mist started to leave the Jewel, as if the Guardian was seeking to regain his form, but Elora quickly stood, removed the Black Jewel, dropped the useless hilt, then again closed her eyes. Iolo said to Dupre, "I overheard Umdelor speaking to Elora before he was slain. In a physical battle, she hath no chance against the Guardian. But in there," he gestured at the Jewel, "with her mind, she doth. The Guardian can only control her if she lets him." 

"What dost thou mean?" Dupre retorted. "He controlled her before to raise that damned sword!" 

"Her body," corrected Tseramed. "Not her mind." 

Jaana pursed her lips. "The human body is easily taken over," she agreed. "Spells and injuries and so forth. But our minds are our true strength. They make us what we are." 

"Then what did I accomplish in breaking the sword?" Dupre asked anxiously. 

"You made her task harder," Arcadion snarled. "And I very much doubt she will win." 

***

_She stood back and appraised her reflection, then put on the dark helmet. What a fool she had been to fear this moment! The hatred was a strong, sweet wine in her body, bringing her fully alive, fully aware. She had been afraid of this potent, powerful, primal emotion. With it came others. She closed her eyes in pleasure, welcoming every sensation. _

Nothing this good could be evil. 

She raised a gauntleted hand and black lightning struck the ground. Gesturing with the other brought down a rain of dark fire. She could do anything. 

Then she stopped and cocked her head, as if listening. Slowly, a rage came over her along with the hunger, the need.... 

Vengeance. 

She wanted it. Craved it. She would visit it upon every being who had sought to keep her weak and divided from herself. 

"You are ready," a familiar Voice said. "Return to me." 

***

"You are ready." 

The Guardian's Voice whispered the words, but still they echoed through the mirror prison room. The companions each felt an oppressive presence sweep down among them. 

"This is it," murmured Iolo. "The Virtues help us." 

"What is it?" Spark asked, confused. 

"If Elora gets into Britannia as a servant of the Guardian," Iolo explained, "we can bid all we know farewell. We must stop her here, or not at all." 

"Thou meanest...kill her?" 

Iolo fell silent and looked uneasy...and afraid. 

Dupre drew his Mystic sword. "Only if we must." 

"I shall attempt to paralyze her," Jaana said, grabbing reagents. 

"That won't help you," said the Avatar. 

The companions froze. 

"Remember? I wear my Crown." 

Jaana drew her sword slowly. "Lord British's Crown." 

"Not anymore." Elora bent and picked up both Rudyom's Wand and her Mystic sword, putting them in her belt and scabbard respectively. "Well?" 

Shamino ventured, "Then thou hast betrayed Britannia?" 

Her green eyes ignited. "Whose side am I on?" she asked in a deadly quiet voice, biting off each word. "How can you ask that of ME, after all I have done? The answer is so simple, now. I serve myself!" 

"Which is exactly what the Guardian wants!" Tseramed exclaimed. 

"What a coincidence," she drawled. "I am returning Britannia to its true Master." 

"The Guardian?" asked Dupre in an accusing voice. 

Elora nodded. "Who else? Care to join me?" 

The ones who hadn't drawn weapons now ripped them from their sheaths. 

The Avatar laughed mirthlessly. "This will be interesting. Would you kill me even if you could?" 

"What does she mean?" Tseramed whispered. 

Shamino shrugged. "Mayhap she believes we can't kill her because we care for her." 

Elora chuckled. "You never cared for me. Always stopping me from doing things that would have helped me; always there to reign me in if I felt force was necessary." She glared at Dupre. "Always there to breakthings that would make me rise above mortality." 

"We were helping thee by stopping thee!" exclaimed Dupre. "Avatar...!" 

She cut him off. "Actually, destroying the Sword of Chaos turned out to be useful. I should thank thee...Dupre," she said mockingly. "Too bad you did it for the wrong reasons." With that she turned away from them. 

"What's she doing?" Spark whispered. 

Red light blossomed, the new-born moongate rising directly before the Avatar. Then she turned and opened a second gate in a different direction. 

Shamino swallowed hard. "The Castle...and the Codex." 

"What to do first?" Elora pondered aloud. "Kill the king or call my Master to his throne? Your choice." 

"No, my Avatar," said the Guardian's Voice. "As a final demonstration of your surrender to me and your rise to ultimate power, you will call me into Britannia in the place you used to hold most dear and sacred above all others!" 

Elora frowned slightly, then smiled. "The Shrine of the Codex!" 

"No," said Iolo. "Thou canst not!" 

She laughed loudly. "Who can stop me?" 

"I will!" The old bard jumped forward, the Mystic sword whistling through the air as he aimed to stab through her shoulder - a crippling, but not killing blow. 

The blade bounced harmlessly off the mystic armour. 

Elora shook her head and sighed. "I guess that shows me what friends are worth." She sounded genuinely disappointed. "Traitors." Then she reached over her shoulder and drew the Blacksword. 

Dupre and Spark rushed to protect the dumbstruck Iolo while Tseramed and Jaana attacked their once-time friend, Elora. 

Shamino had other plans. He edged closer to the Castle gate. If he could get through and warn Lord British, the king could use HIS orb to gate help to the Isle of the Avatar and stop Elora. No, his orb wouldn't work...the Virtue Stones. One of them was marked for the Isle, he was sure. 

Elora's face was set in a cold expression as she easily defended herself. Only Dupre was her match with a blade, but now, skill meant nothing. Protected from the Mystic weapons by the Mystic armour she wore, and from magic by the Crown, here she was invincible. 

Oh, her false friends tried to talk to her. They spoke of commitment and loyalty, friendship and past events, Britannia and Earth and more. But each held a different meaning to her, now. Especially Earth. She could go home and claim it in the name of the Guardian. 

"Shamino, what art thou doing?" Spark shouted. 

Elora spun about, every sense pointing at danger, so see the man in the blue surcoat preparing to jump through a gate. Ignoring the sword strokes rained down on her, she pointed at Shamino and called on the arts of the Shadowlords. 

An arrow, ebony black, appeared out of nowhere and hovered in midair, directed at Shamino. 

He froze to the spot, gaze riveted on the black bolt. 

Elora nodded. "Remember this, do you? When I first struck you down with the same spell so long ago?" 

With audible tension, he replied, "It was not thee." 

"If you mean it was the Shadowlords, then it _was_ me, for I am them." She smiled. "What did it feel like, Shamino?" she asked maliciously. 

"Like pure evil," he whispered, trembling with fear. 

Elora was delighted. "And you felt it at work in you. It would have been so easy to give up to its power. Now I'll give you another chance to do so." 

Suddenly, Dupre was before her and he drove his fist into her face. Both grunted with the impact as the knight had struck the nasal-bar protecting Elora's nose, though that hadn't been enough to completely save her. 

Dazed, the Avatar fell back and landed hard, shaking her head in confusion. Dupre merely touched his sore hand experimentally, then moved to stand above Elora. He held his sword so that the point dangled above her exposed throat - for she wore the Ankh instead of a gorgot or collar. 

The Avatar blinked a few times, then waved a hand negligently. 

Shamino's cry of pain turned Dupre's head and before he knew it, the Blacksword was buried in his stomach. 

Elora smiled almost gleefully and twisted the sword in the knight's vitals, watching the blood pour freely. 

"Avatar," he said weakly. 

Shock abruptly registered on Elora's face and she caught Dupre as he fell, lowering him to the bloody floor. "Dupre," she whispered in horror, taking hold of the Blacksword's hilt. "By Infinity...what have I _done_?" She looked over at where Jaana knelt beside Shamino near the moongates. 

The black arrow protruded from his chest and the Mystic armour shimmered strangely around the puncture. Sweat poured off his face and his teeth were gritted as his chest rose and fell rapidly. 

"What have I done?" she whispered again. Elora stood up slowly, then pulled Arcadion free causing Dupre to double up in a fresh wave of agony. "Oh that's right," she said in an offhand voice. "I remember now." 

"By the Virtues, Avatar," shouted Iolo. "Dost thou remember nothing?" 

"Ah...the last of my 'Great' companions. Arcadion, you may Fire when ready." 

"Yes, Master," the blade muttered. 

"Arcadion," called Iolo. "Canst thou not stop her?" 

"No," it replied. "But I think I've decided this might be...fun." 

Iolo stood dead still and looked Elora straight in the eyes. "Then so be it. Kill me now so I don't have to see what Britannia becomes later." 

Elora paused. "Now _that_ is a good idea." She admitted. "A living Hell." Her face became reflective. "That brings back memories." 

Jaana looked up from where she was trying to heal Dupre. "What art thou going to do?" 

Elora pulled out the orb again and closed the gate which led to the Castle. "Leave you safely here until I'm ready to let you out. Might take a while..." 

The orb of the moons suddenly flew from her hand as something small and hard struck her across the fingers. Angrily, she turned and scowled at Spark, who was fumbling desperately for another sling stone. "You will really regret that," the Avatar grated, raising her hand to point. 

Spark dropped his sling and dodged with all the agility youth gave him. 

Iolo and Tseramed sought to knock Elora down as she fired her black arrows. All three went down on the floor and two bolts were shot wild. Elora moved to get free, cursing her sword for being too large for close fighting. 

Then she caught sight of Spark and fired. The arrow sped towards his heart...and pierced it to the sound of shattering glass. 

Elora's eyes widened and she levered herself up and saw her own face appear at Spark's feet. 

"The mirror," she said, then swore and leaped to her feet. 

The ground gave a violent lurch and stress lines appeared across the walls and roof in imitation of the ones on the mirror. As a shard of glass fell, a cracking noise erupted from the room and a gaping black hole opened in the floor near Umdelor's body. 

Tseramed grabbed the orb before it fell into the Void then dragged Umdelor back from the brink. 

Elora sighed. "Well, gotta run. See you in Britannia - if you make it, that is." With a heroic leap, she cleared the hole and entered the remaining red moongate as the reflection of the mirror prison continued to self-destruct. 

Dupre groaned as Tseramed helped him up. "Open a gate to the Isle..." the knight began before coughing up blood. 

"No," said the archer. "To the Castle. Only Lord British can stop her." 

"'Twill be too late!" Dupre protested, urgency lending him strength. 

"Only if thou dost keep arguing!" With that, Tseramed opened a moongate to the Castle and the mirror prison collapsed. 

***

On the Isle of the Avatar, it was raining. A steady downpour pounded the rocky cliffs and small beach forming infinitesimal rivulets of water which flowed freely down to meet the sea. The large bay seemed draped in a perpetual fog, as the rain stirred up a thick blanket of ocean spray. The steel-grey sky roiled with dark clouds and there was the distant sound of thunder. 

Abruptly, the rain turned red as blood. A ruby door rose up from the sand and stood there a long, silent time before anyone emerged from it. But when someone did, all sounds were suddenly muted, as if in fear. 

Someone dressed in Mystic armour and an Ankh-bearing tabard, and holding a black sword. Mailed hands removed a Crown surmounted helm to uncover a face familiar to this place...yet unfamiliar. 

The Avatar. 

She dropped the helm and Crown on the wet sand, sheathed the sword in a scabbard slung across her back, then retrieved a small, black Jewel from the front of her armour. 

Lightning split the sky with white fire and a deafening clap of thunder shook the air and the very island. The Avatar seemed amused at the display, as if she were secretly laughing at a joke only she understood. 

The moongate gave a twitch then became narrower, closing the wrong way. 

"Interesting," Elora mused aloud before returning her attention to the Jewel. "Now witness my unwavering loyalty to you, Guardian." She faced north and started to walk. 

The rain-drenched cliffs lining the narrow path soon gave way to the gigantic statues, called the Guardians, which knelt one on either side of the path. The white and blue marble beings had been set there ages ago to guard the Shrine of the Codex, but since the Codex's removal to the Void, they had ceased to function. They slept. 

"I always thought you guys reminded me of the Southern Oracle in 'The Neverending Story,'" Elora said as she passed between them. 

The Guardians, silent for two hundred years, did not respond or deny her entry. 

The Shrine itself was a masterpiece of architecture. Elora didn't pause to admire it, though. The graceful pillars and arches held nothing for her. She strode right up to the empty altar that was flanked by two burning, holy braziers. The firelight cast shadows everywhere, shadows that seemed to watch eagerly, awaiting release. 

The Avatar looked at the wall facing her, which was etched with the six-pointed star and the triple-circle symbol that adorned the cover of the Codex. 

"No prophecy prepared you for this," she said softly. "What page would you show me now, I wonder? Love and Truth and Courage!" she spat. "They are no match for what I have now. Love is no weapon, Truth is a flimsy shield at best and Courage will avail you nothing against what armies I will raise." 

She held up the Black Jewel cupped in both hands above her head and raised her face to gaze into the gem. Power, freedom, immortality...she would have it all and more besides. Her Master had promised. 

Parting her lips, she called out in a massive voice. "_TIR MORDRETH_!" 

***

Lord British stumbled on his way to the throne and caught himself before falling. The incident should have humiliated him, but he had not faltered by accident. Something had...provoked the mistake. Turning to Nystul, he said, "something is amiss!" 

The mage's face was pale. "I felt it also, milord. A terrible disturbance in the ether! It is directly effecting Britannia!" 

"But what is it?" the king closed his eyes and incanted. "I cannot locate it." 

A guard sprinted into the throneroom and barely managed to bow before speaking. Clearly agitated, he called, "My lord! There is an emergency in the central gardens! The Avatar..." 

Lord British didn't wait to hear the rest. With Nystul and Geoffrey at his sides, he hurried out to the garden and sucked in a deep breath at the bloody scene before him. 

"My lord..." Shamino said in a shallow voice. 

Jaana was bending over Dupre's blood-soaked form and Tseramed was lowering an inert gargoyle body to the grassy ground. Iolo sat by the fountain, his face buried in his hands as Spark awkwardly patted his back. Swiftly, Lord British nodded to Nystul and the two started to perform healing spells. 

***

_"You are ready," a familiar Voice said. "Return to me." _

But a second voice, strange to her ears but...not to her soul, said, "RETURN TO ME." 

"She is MINE!" the first said. 

"NO, SHE IS NOT." 

"She was divided!" 

"SHE WAS FREE." 

"She was empty of the strength of Doom!" 

"SHE WAS FULL OF THE POWER OF SPIRITUALITY." 

Angry, she turned back to the mirror, intending to destroy it and negate the possibility of returning to her former weak state. But there stood a reflection and she could not avoid seeing herself. 

The image was garbed in armour of purest white and bore an incandescent sword. With her free hand, the image removed her helmet and put it on the floor beside a shield. Then she looked up. 

The face was her own. 

"She had no knowledge of my Cause!" 

"SHE WORE THE BELT OF TRUTH." 

"She knew not the meaning of power!" 

"SHE WORE THE BREASTPLATE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS." 

"She knew not how to make war!" 

"SHE WORE THE BOOTS OF PEACE." 

"She knew not whom she served!" 

"SHE BORE THE SHIELD OF FAITH." 

"She knew not that she was a prisoner!" 

"SHE WORE THE HELMET OF SALVATION." 

The white clad reflection reached out to her and she regarded the action with conflicting emotions. There was no accusation in the green eyes, no question of loyalty on her lips, just a simple offering to return. She looked her black armour over and saw only judgement and fear. A part of her noted that this time, she would be the one to incite that fear and a flush of anticipation washed through her...only to vanish as she again met the eyes of her opposite. 

She had lost more in donning the evil armour than she had gained. These black virtues had no purpose. They were merely the absence of those the white figure stood for. 

Purposefully, she reached towards the mirror and the first Voice vent a scream of furious denial... 

***

"Iolo!" Lord British repeated. "Art thou hurt?" 

The bard moved his hands and said bitterly, "in a spiritual sense, milord. But I'm sure the physical will set in soon enough." His tired body shook with silent sobs. "I will never hold my Gwenno again..." 

Lord British frowned. "What happened since thy return to Doom?" 

But Iolo wasn't listening. He lowered his head again and tears ran down his weathered face. "Ah, my lord, we lost her. She was not strong enough and he...he...the Guardian killed her, my lord. The Avatar is dead!" 

Shocked whispers ran through the spectators and Lord British staggered against the low basin of the fountain. "Iolo," he whispered. "The Guardian slew Elora?" 

"No," the bard said in a deathly quiet voice. "He converted her." 

***

_...And I found myself on the other side. _

"She knows not how to defeat me!" 

"SHE BEARS THE SWORD OF THE SPIRIT." 

I blinked, as if awakening from a dream, though the shadow-walls, the area I vaguely remembered was still here, surrounding me. 

She...I... 

I shook my head to clear out the fog and block out the voices of the shadows, but two voices remained clear, though they were now silent. 

"Umdelor," I whispered, remembering. His last words - what had he said? Fight with the heart, mind and...spirit! I raised my right hand and felt the comfortable weight of a sword nestled in the palm. White as snow, long and straight and sharp...it radiated light more strongly than the Black Jewel could remove it. 

Lifting the sword, I faced the mirror and without pause smashed it with a single stroke. Never would I join forces with the Guardian. I felt no reaction to the fact that I technically HAD. Had I rejected the Guardian and his offer in the Ethereal Plane, my friends and I would have been killed. Joining him without holding back, with only the faintest hope of breaking free once clear of the Mirror Prison, had been the only hope of victory. 

Had we won? 

The glittering fragments of the mirror vanished before passing through the mist shrouding the floor. The frame burst into scarlet flames and melted down to nothing in the passing of a few seconds. 

"WELL DONE, AVATAR OF BRITANNIA," said the second voice, a voice echoing rushing water. "I AM WELL PLEASED WITH YOU." 

In a flash of insight, I lowered myself to my knees, clasping the hilt of the Spiritblade - the reflection of my own character. It was white and shining. It bore no jewel or decoration, nothing to hide what it was or make it appear more than what it seemed. I felt the reassuring warmth flow through it and spoke into the mists. "Master..?" 

The shadow-walls became less dark, pierced by light. "YES, AVATAR?" 

I hesitated, feeling the way you do just when you're about to wake from a dream. "Master," I said again. "Who are you?" 

The barren plain was drenched with sudden light as the voice replied, "I AM." 

Then everything faded and my eyes widened, hands clenching around the Spiritblade's ivory-white hilt. In a voice overflowing with pure awe, I whispered, "Oh, my God..!" 

***

"Kneel." 

The thunderous Voice brought me back and I looked around in bewilderment at my surroundings. The Shrine of the Codex...? I remembered... 

"Kneel." 

I looked up past the sight of the Black Jewel and at the monstrous form of the Guardian. He stared down at me and his fiery eyes narrowed, as if sensing the fracturing of his carefully made plans. 

"Britannia is mine!" he roared. "You know not how to defeat me!" He pointed with a gigantic finger. "Kneel or _die_! I am the Shadowlord of Doom!" 

Shadowlord! The title clicked something in my mind, something from the distant past. My eyes focussed on the Jewel again, which I still held high. I blinked. This pose felt very familiar. 

I remembered. 

The Guardian's eyes widened in shock at the look of illumination that must have crossed my face. Throwing his arms across his face he screamed, "_NO_!" 

I turned slightly to face one of the braziers and cast the Jewel of Doom into the Eternal Flame of Infinity! 

A pillar of billowing flames exploded upwards from the basin to consume the Guardian, the conflagration blowing sky high. The second brazier, which held the Flame of Singularity, also roared to life and added the power of the gargoyles' virtues to those of the britannians. The Guardian vanished from sight, whether hidden by the influx of sapphire and amethyst flames or some other reason. 

My eyes teared from the intensity of the light and I stared into the blazing sheets of flame, straining to see anything, but the Guardian was truly gone. I listened intently for a deep chuckle, a taunt, a threat...but nothing. 

The flames slowly died down until they were merely flickering lights in the braziers again, and I whispered, "The doom of the Shadowlord of Doom is wrought," all the while wondering if those words meant anything. 

A shimmering on the wall caught my eyes and I watched as the Codex appeared, surrounded by the starry emptiness of the Void. 

"Umm, I didn't mean what I said before," I said. "Well, I guess at the _time_ I did, but..." 

The golden book opened and I bit my lip, then read what it showed me. 

'_One shall come with the strength of an army, the vision of a prophet and the heart of a saint. This Great One will bring about an end to the struggle between the darkness and the light_.' 

I stared at the ancient prophecy for a long time, then grinned. 

***

"A soul trap is the best explanation I have," I told Arcadion. "I knew exactly what was happening before, but it was as if through another's eyes." 

"But were your thoughts your own?" the daemon asked. 

I considered. "I suppose they were...but they were the same as the thoughts of those who controlled me. It's difficult to explain." I sighed. "The hate was real...it all was. And it scared me to death." 

Arcadion's jewel pulsed. "What made you turn back? A scarce few have, and fewer lived to tell of it. Many kill themselves from remorse." 

Scraping back wet hair from my face with one hand and tracing runes in the sand with the other, I replied, "I...don't think I can explain it. You'd have to see it yourself." 

"Hmm. It must be...indescribable." 

I chuckled. "I suppose it was, at that. But unforgettable." 

We were silent a while and I just sat there, listening to the rain and the rush of waves...revelling in all the sensations that had been absent in the dungeons. After passing back through the statues of the Guardians, I had somehow managed to awaken them and call for their aid. 

"The shine is once again in need of protection," I had said. "Will you both resume your duties and guard against the threat which hovers over Britannia?" 

In a musical voice - or maybe it was voices - they responded, "We will." 

"People may enter, but none may leave with the Black Jewel of Mondain." 

"We understand." 

"Thank you." 

"Farewell, Seeker." 

"How long do you think it will take for your companions to arrive?" Arcadion asked. 

I shrugged. "If they escaped..." I fell silent, then continued. "I guess I could cast Gate Travel. No, that still requires moongates." 

The Blacksword glistened wetly then Arcadion inquired, "Where are you going?" 

"On a holiday." I stretched, feeling the rain wash the dirt of the dungeon from my face. "Maybe I'll stop off at the Castle first, I just don't know. I have a lot to think about." I scratched another rune in the sand. "To think about by myself." 

"Quaskorp?" 

"And Umdelor and the Guardian and everything. But I will never be that afraid again," I vowed. 

"The Dark Realm," said Arcadion. 

"What?" 

"It is the name daemons give for anything born of fear or terror. Few have wandered the Dark Realm and returned to the light." 

"That gives a whole new meaning to the term 'blind with fear,'" I noted thoughtfully. 

Arcadion fell silent and I looked around, trying to remember the last time I'd been here. Weeks, maybe months ago, when my friends and I had flown here to find the Fellowship leaders. 

Flown? 

The Magic Carpet! 

Standing, I grabbed the Blacksword and my helmet then attempted to get my bearings. It started to pour. I couldn't stifle a laugh as I was completely saturated. Tipping the water out of my helm, I set off in what I hoped was a westerly direction. 

***

The Magic Carpet flew northwest over the snow-capped summits of the mountains. The rain had stopped only to be replaced by a full-blown gale which shrieked through the crags and blew my wet hair around my face. The clouds had broken, however, and the light of the sun hovering above the western horizon drenched the Isle of the Avatar in golden illumination. 

"How do I steer this thing?" I muttered. Usually, the combined weights of four or more people could 'tilt' the carpet around... 

I finally resigned myself to casting telekinesis and used the spell to aid in control over the carpet as the wind tried to take over. 

Speeding between two glittering, icy peaks, I cleared the island's coast and couldn't resist looking back at the sheer cliff, pounded against by relentless, powerful waves. The sea threw itself at the rocks and exploded into dazzling scatterings of droplets. 

The sound of them was almost inaudible amidst the wind. Turning back, I faced the vast, watery expanse before me...and blinked, almost falling in surprise. 

A whirlpool. I stared down its gigantic, watery throat and imagined I could see darkness. Maybe it opened into the Underworld. The dizzying vortex mesmerised me and I shook my head to clear it, half-standing...then falling as a blast of wind buffeted me. 

The world spun in a blur instants before I hit the water. Cold as ice, it closed over my hear and I struggled upwards against the drag of my armour. Above, I noticed the faint outline of the carpet drifting away without me. I broke the surface and took a ragged gasp of air and seawater before being submerged again. 

Underwater, I reflexively coughed up the liquid from my lungs only to breathe more in. Instinct took hold and I tried again to breathe...my chest burned...my heart throbbed and pounded...my vision went black. 

***

An ungentle, painful force pushed against my stomach and chest. I choked and retched violently for what seemed like ages. When no more would come, I blindly pushed myself up...and weakly vomited again. 

Finally, I drew in a deep shuddering breath and opened my eyes to blackness. My chest constricted but I swallowed back the bile and hastily wiped my teeth with the cloth of my surcoat before the stomach acids could eat them away. 

Then I lowered myself down again and groaned at the pain that flashed across my chest. The rocky ground jabbed me mercilessly through my armour but I couldn't seem to summon enough will to move. 

"Hello?" a male voice called. 

I tried to return the greeting but managed only an unintelligible, "urrrrghh..." 

Hearing the unmistakable slither of a sword being drawn, I forced myself to stand and looked towards a glimmer of light coming nearer. 

"Who goes?" the voice said warily. 

Giving up, I turned my head and threw up. The stranger was beside me with a lantern before I was capable of doing anything else. 

"Thou dost choose some strange ways to visit me, Elora," he said, helping me up. 

I grinned weakly. "Hello, Johne." 

***

"Draxinusom doesn't know yet," I added after telling Captain Johne all that had happened. "Should I tell him?" 

The old man sighed. "Umdelor was special in the stance he took between gargoyles and humans." He stood and crossed over to a laden shelf so I took the opportunity to glance around from where I sat. 

The small house, britannian to all outward appearances, was classic gargish on the inside. A few potted plants that could survive without sunlight, two sleeping mats - one of which I assumed Umdelor had used, three groups of three glowing spheres which hovered at various places to provide light...gargish art and science and more. 

Johne put a heavy book down on the table. "I felt the need to record all information he gave me," he explained, opening it to somewhere near the end. 

"Gargish runes?" I guessed, spotting the text. 

Johne smiled. "I suppose a translation will be needed if this volume is to be of any use." 

Regarding the sheer size of the leather-bound tome, I remarked, "That would take some time." 

"Well, I'm going nowhere," Johne replied. "And it's not entirely my choice." He leaned over the table. "I feel them still, Elora. Even after so long...so very long...even now, they won't let me go." 

I sighed. "Then it isn't over." 

He shook his head sadly. "Nay, it isn't. But enough about the Shadowlords. With any luck, they won't be back for a while." He ran a finger down the yellowed page. "Yes...Umdelor. After his father died on Terfin, Beh Lem came back to me - don't ask me how. The company was mutually appreciated. Thou knowest the hatred some gargoyles have for thee?" 

"Yes. They blame me for the Underworld's destruction." 

Johne nodded. "Think of the hostility Beh Lem - who helped thee, would have endured." Johne sighed. "That is why he came back to me. Oh, he still had friends, but they were, plainly put, outnumbered." 

I shifted uncomfortably, taking care not to upset the bandages around my chest. "He spoke of a dragon." 

The former Captain chuckled. "Aye. Beh Lem went to the Codex's shrine seeking instruction on what he should do. The quest he was sent on led to the encounter with his dragon." 

"This was after his oath to you?" 

Johne let out an exasperated sound. "His oath was not made at my request," he told me. "Gargoyles get all excited when one mentions 'quest,' 'Avatar' and 'Doom' in one sentence." 

"So do we," uttered Arcadion. "Except we don't go all gooey. Our reactions tend more towards homicide." 

I ignored him, hoping Johne hadn't heard. "Then what was it? Umdelor seemed most adamant." 

"I'm sure he was. I developed a very strong streak of stubbornness in his nature. What happened, was that I was telling him about why I lived apart from other humans." I nodded understanding. "I finished it by saying rather wistfully, 'Had I the courage, I would continue the Avatar's quest and destroy the remaining shards of the Jewel of Doom.'" 

I blinked. "Remaining shards?" 

Johne produced another book and blew dust from it. "There were more than three; though if this Guardian could use just those to come into Britannia in his full form, they're likely unimportant." 

"I hope so," I said fervently. 

"Anyway, Beh Lem got all enthusiastic and made the promise he told thee about. I decided he'd spent long enough down here, so," he shrugged. "I accepted." 

I sighed. "I see." 

"I think twenty years passed before I saw him again, and when I did, I barely recognised him." Johne passed the second book to me. "That was his journal. An affection," he added with a smile. "After I told him I had kept one as a Captain, he decided to follow suit." Johne stood. "Coffee? There is water boiling in the hot sprint outside." 

I opened the cover. "Please." 

He grinned and departed, leaving me alone. 

I turned a few pages and was pleased to see Umdelor - or Beh Lem, back then - had written his journal in britannian runes. Speed-reading down a few leaves, my eyes were soon caught by a sentence. 

'The Codex read - "Follow the footsteps of the creature of light, and thou shalt descend into the heard of darkness from which there is no return."' 

I stared. Had Umdelor known that I had been leading him to his death? The following read, 'I took this to mean that if I follow the sun west, I will find the Black Jewel which will destroy me if I seek to control it unaided.' I shook my head and flipped more pages but I was tired and nothing grabbed me. 

Johne returned with two steaming mugs. 

"You pardon, Johne," I said. "But could I have tea instead? Coffee tends to keep me awake." 

He nodded sagely. "Ahh, aye, of course." 

I closed the book as he moved towards a bench. "Would you mind if I...um...borrow this book when I leave?" 

I knew he smiled even with his back to me. "Feel free. I'll understand if I don't get it back any time soon." 

I stood, suppressing a groan as my ribs creaked and went over to him. "Why, Johne? Why don't you go back above?" 

Johne stirred one of the cups. "Avatar, thee and thy friends have mine eternal gratitude for taking me away from my sunked ship. Dungeon Despise was...inhospitable at best. But after Nosfentor struck me and thou wert forced to leave me in Moonglow..." he offered me a cup. "I despaired that the Shadowlords would ever be stopped. It was impossible for me not to speak of my part in the whole matter and...those that believed me drove me away." 

"Johne, those people must have died ages ago!" 

"Words live longer than man," the old Captain replied, returning to his seat. "I don't think I'd care to find out if my words still survive after the latest incident." 

"I guess," I responded non-committally, leaning back on the bench. My chest protested and I resigned myself to walking back to my chair. 

"Still hurting?" Johne asked, changing the topic with a complete lack of tact. 

I laughed and winced. "Yes." 

"Forgive me, I don't keep many potions or reagents anymore. The reagents ran out recently." 

"Never mind. I'll leave you what I have left and bring more if I can." 

Johne waved a hand absently. "Don't bother. Hythloth has many caches of reagents, though I find the ones I least need grow the best!" 

I coughed on a mouthful and said, "Nightshade?" 

"Aye," he replied with a smile. "All it's good for is poisoning the rats." 

I laughed and winced again. "Maybe you should put something soft on those rocks for the next visitor," I suggested. 

Johne said, "Thou wert lucky. Few things appear down here that don't end up landing in the lava lake." 

"Lava lake?" My eyes drifted to the pile of armour in the corner, the Mystic sword lying atop it. 

"Aye, and that's where I get all my heat from in this cold place." He sipped his drink. 

"Were my friends down here before?" 

"Indeed they were. Did some excavating of the lava lake, actually." He followed my gaze to the armour and sword. "I see," he said softly. 

"Maybe Jaana was right about the whirlpool," I said, referring to the one that had sunk the ship carrying the Mystic artifacts. 

Johne pursed his lips. "What wilt thou do?" 

I drained my cup and stood. "First, I'd like to get a good night sleep - " with no dreams, I silently added, " - and I'll worry about tomorrow when it comes." 

"Very well," he said, smiling. "Thou canst use that mat there tonight. Dost thou want a blanket?" 

"No, thank thee," I answered, remembering my manners. "I'll just - " I yawned. " - collapse, if that's ok." 

"Pleasant dreams." 

I lay down on the may finding it soft and springy. My tired body virtually melted into it and my eyes drifted shut. 

"I'm flattered, Master," Arcadion's voice whispered in my ear, startling me out of my half-sleep. "But I doubt you'll find me a comfortable bed-mate." 

Grunting a less than amused reply, I moved my hands the necessary few inches to the scabbard's buckle, unfastened it, and dumped the Blacksword on the floor. 

"Pleasant dreams," the daemon muttered. 

I lay still, then closed my eyes again. Listening to the soft clatter of Johne clearing the table, I smiled contentedly and relaxed... 

...because the Voice I had most expected to speak those two words to me, was silent. 

***

Taking the Mystic sword by the hilt, I swung it back over my shoulder and threw. The shimmering blade sailed through the darkness and landed point down in the glowing, molten lava. 

"I wonder who forged them," Johne mused as the weapon sank beside the spot where the armour was submerged. 

"We forge them," I said absently, watching as the pure white light, untinged by the lava's red, sank lower. 

"What?" 

I frowned slightly, perplexed at my own words. "They are...symbolic," I replied at last. "They are a reflection of ourselves. Our spirit." 

The hilt vanished beneath the liquid rock and the darkness of the cave became darker without the blade's illumination. 

"Like the Spiritblade thou spokest of?" 

"I guess so," I agreed. "Physical manifestation? I'll have to think about it." 

We sat staring at the crater of sluggishly moving lava for a while, the heat only just bearable. I was wearing clothes borrowed from Johne - though they were definitely female garments. Johne had said only that he had retrieved them from his sunken ship and he seemed reluctant to speak further on the topic. 

The skirt was forest green as was the light doublet, which left my arms and shoulders bare. On my feet I wore finely crafted leather thigh-boots which fit me to perfection. My old clothes I had worn under my armour I had tossed into the flaming magma. 

"Johne," I said presently. "How did my companions seem to you when they came down for the Mystic gear?" 

"Worried," he answered. "They spoke of little else but the daemon and thee for the few days they spent with me." He regarded me closely. "But they never doubted thee. They never considered that thou wouldst change sides." 

That hurt more than anything the Guardian had thrown at me. "I betrayed them," I whispered. "For all I know, Dupre and Shamino...all of them could be dead." 

"Elora, it is not thy fault." 

"I took that sword up and tried to kill them!" 

"The Guardian was using thee." 

I sighed. "I knew exactly what I was doing - I wanted to do it." Shaking my head, "I hated them so much. I meant everything I said...it's as if the Jewel magnified all my negative emotions a thousandfold." 

The old Captain nodded, his eyes revealing long-buried memories. "That is exactly what it does. It enlarges the shadows until they cloud out all the light." He put a hand on my shoulder. "It's not thy fault." 

I met his gaze. "If I believe it, will you?" 

He smiled sadly. "I guess I asked for that." 

Reaching up, I gripped his hand. "You'll find rest one day, my friend." 

"May the Virtues grant that we both do." 

***

"That's where they tunneled through," Johne said, pointing. 

The cave mouth was jagged and debris littered the area. The opening into the dungeon Hythloth which led back up to Britannia was pitch black. 

"So the Underworld DID collapse?" I asked. 

"Aye, and truth to tell, I expected this place to go first." Johne rubbed a floor-to-roof stalactite almost affectionately. "Stronger than I thought." 

I grinned. 

Already I'd been down here a week. The first night had seen me sleeping for almost two full days, according to Johne. Hot springs and soap provided bathing to rival the bath-houses at Buccaneer's Den and the food Johne had was thankfully much better then jerky. 

After the lava lake, he'd shown me the caved-in tunnels which had led to the gargoyle land, various caverns and subterranean gardens, and lastly, the way my companions had entered. 

I knew Johne didn't want me to leave too soon, heaven knew he must be lonely, but I didn't have the luxury of isolation. Too many things had been left undone and I had to attend to them. 

The greenish-grey lichen was brittle and crunched loudly as I approached the opening. Marks on the rocks indicated the use of mining tools. 

"I heard all the clatter they made and called through the rocks," he continued. "When Dupre shouted back, then I grabbed up a pick and started to help." 

"How long did it take?" 

"I believe Dupre said two days before I came along...so three, maybe four?" 

I smiled. "Dupre was never one to lie around." 

Johne brought the lamp closer and the dim light revealed the dark-brown earthen walls beyond. "Nor art thou, I take it." 

I sighed. "I must go back." 

His eyes gleamed in the light. "I understand." 

"Do you want the clothes back?" 

He looked me up and down and I hoped I wasn't blushing. "Nay, keep them, Elora. They look good on thee." Turning towards the path which led to his house, he added, "But there is an easier way to leave here than through Hythloth." 

I paused, staring into the dungeon. Something was watching us. 

"Your friends brought some...um," he fumbled for the words. "Virtue Stones? Aye, that's it. Anyway, they left one here..." 

"Johne." 

I heard him turn. "Aye?" 

"Do you have any trouble with monsters down here?" 

He chuckled. "Not much. There WAS a scuffle with two trolls after that cave was unblocked, but..." 

Catching a flicker of movement beyond the cave mouth, I assumed a defensive stance with one arm close to my side and the other bent up to protect my face. 

A troll jumped forward and stopped, its attack prevented by an invisible wall. I watched as the creature attempted to push its head through the barrier, the only effect being his face squashing up like he had it flat against a pane of glass. 

Johne grinned. "Aye, I had to block the entrance with a force field." 

Laughing, I relaxed and watched the troll scrabble at the field. 

"What form of open-hand fighting is that?" Johne inquired as we walked away. 

I smiled. "On my world, it's called karate. Remind me never to leave my sword behind again!" 

We passed between two large boulders encrusted with rust-coloured loam and were back in the main hall. Despite my hunger to see the sky and feel the fresh wind again, I was forced to admire the stark beauty of this place. 

Years uncounted had seen to the construction of massive stalagmites which reared up straight and tall; their number making Hythloth seem like a forest of leafless, grey trees. 

I shook my head, wishing more than ever for the green surroundings of Spiritwood or even the dead, golden sands of the desert. 

A mongbat swooped down nearby, chittering in its strange language and pointing with a human-like hand. 

Johne had pointedly told me that not every monster down here was evil - no matter what he or I might like to believe. As far as I could tell, Johne had made 'friends' with a family of mongbats, a giant spider, an old cyclops and - surprise, surprise - a wisp, which he occasionally prevailed upon for information. Except for the wisp, each primary encounter with Johne's neighbors had inevitably begun with me drawing the Blacksword. The mongbats had stared at me, the spider had actually laughed - according to Johne, and the cyclops had suffered a minor heart attack. 

The entire ordeal had convinced me to leave Arcadion behind. 

"He says there are creatures like us at my house," Johne said, his brow furrowing. "They appeared out of nowhere." He made a few squeaky noises and the mongbat landed on a rock, nodding its head in a strangely human gesture. 

"What?" I asked. "Who are they?" 

"I asked him if they wore snakes on their chests and he said yes." 

I let out a sound of comprehension. "Silver serpent tabards!" 

Johne nodded. "Lord British must have sent them." 

The winged monkey chattered excitedly. 

"Only a few wear snakes?" translated Johne. "Others bear strange symbols." 

"My companions," I whispered. 

The mongbat gave me a suspicious look. 

"What wilt thou do?" asked Johne of me. 

"You said they left a Virtue Stone here?" I asked. 

"Aye. It goes to Castle Britannia." 

"Fine. I'll grab the Blacksword and teleport away." 

"I have a Recall scroll you can use. They're both on my desk." 

I sighed. "I hope you understand why I can't face them yet." 

"I understand perfectly," Johne said. "I'll try to distract them long enough for thee to escape." 

I embraced him. "Thank you, Johne." 

He hugged back. "And thank thee, Elora. I hope everything turns out well." 

"I'll return. I promise." 

Johne drew away. "I would appreciate it," he said with a smile. "The Virtues be with thee. Now go." 

The mongbat screeched and took wing as I passed quickly towards the dimly lit shape of Johne's house. I conjured a glimmer of light, as large as I dared, and took a deviation from the main path. The uneven ground and irregular placements of stone pillars conspired to slow my progress. John's house only had one door and by the time I reached the building, Johne was already there, speaking to six others a short distance from it. 

I doused my fire and examined the visitors. Three were clearly of the Guard, two wielding halberds and one a two-handed sword. The other three were recognisable from their bright tabards and softly glowing armour. 

"Jaana, Tseramed and Spark," I whispered, wondering how the latter had convinced Lord British to let him come. Johne had mentioned not seeing a small boy among his last lot of visitors. 

I stalked closer and crouched in the shadow of a wall, listening intently. 

"...know she's here. When thou didst not answer the door, we went in and saw the Blacksword." 

I let out a slow breath, knowing it would now be next to impossible getting inside undetected. 

"I won't lie," Johne said. "She was here." 

"Where is she?" the sword bearing guard asked, and I recognised Geoffrey's voice. 

Johne pointed down the east path with a vague wave of his hand. "I last saw her down there, but that was five to ten minutes ago. She somehow knew ye six had arrived, then left the path." 

I grinned. 

"How did she seemeth to thee?" asked Jaana. 

Johne started recounting some of our conversations and I considered my dilemma. 

The house had one window. It was openable, but too small for me. Nevertheless, I crept around the back of the house where a hot spring sent clouds of steam into the air. The single window let out a bar of light which refracted off the evaporated water like a searchlight. 

I crept to the other side of the house. 

"Why did she do that?" Tseramed was asking. "She was invincible with that armour." 

"Because she isn't the person who joined the Guardian!" Johne exclaimed. "She banished him!" 

I could see the expressions on their faces quite clearly. None were rude enough to suggest that Johne was serving the Shadowlords, but I knew they were thinking it. 

"Whose side are you on?" I muttered, disgusted. 

A chorus of shrieks signalled an assault a split second before one began. About ten mongbats dove at the six visitors - Johne backed prudently away - and diverted their attention. I leaped up while the startled humans ducked and turned, their eyes following the flight of the group towards the north, their hands drawing weapons. 

I took the opportunity to sneak inside. 

Books were stuffed into an empty pack before I snatched up Arcadion and crossed to the desk. A white Virtue Stone sat next to a silver-chased scroll case. I opened the case and extracted the enchanted scroll, then frowned. Chances were this would teleport me to the central garden where I would certainly be seen. 

I cast about quickly and found Johne's small collection of potions on top of the book case. Two were black, invisibility solutions, so I took one, hoping Johne wouldn't mind. 

A tapping sound caused me to look towards the door. I waited, frozen, until the noise came again. Realising it came from the window, I turned and saw a mongbat regarding me with velvet brown eyes. 

I grinned at it and waved, wondering if he would understand the gesture. To my surprise, the creature smiled back, waved, then was away. 

Swiftly, I strapped pack and sword on, then pulled out the cork in the bottle with my teeth and drank the potion. 

I didn't particularly like black potions as they tasted foul, and seemed to burn on the way down. My vision blurred, then colours faded to shades of grey and I knew I was now invisible to the naked eye. Picking up the scroll, I read the incantation and focussed my will on the Virtue Stone which lay on the desk. The shades of grey faded to blackness. 

***

Disjointed voices reached my ears. 

"Mmmmy llllord, dost thou ssssense ssssomething?" 

"The shhhhifting of eeeether wwwwaves." 

"Mmmmayhap Geoffrey is rrrreturning." 

A brief flash of colour and a heartstopping instant of thinking the potion had worn off. 

"Nnnno, the disturbance iiiis too small." 

The greyness gave way to a blinding flash of light as my eyes, unaccustomed to the sunlight after the days underground, were laid bare to the sun's rays. Biting back a cry of pain, I squinted. 

"I ssssaw something!" 

Blinking furiously, I strained to see anything but the blurred greyness. I stood still, heart pounding. Sound was first to reorder itself. 

"'Twas naught but a shadow." 

"Shadows? Again?" 

A sigh. "Iolo was certain. But nothing has happened. Then when I sent a company to the Isle of the Avatar..." 

"'Tis a mystery, milord." 

"Will she return, I wonder?" 

I finally made out the figures of Lord British and Nystul. I wasn't standing in the garden, but in the throneroom, so the light must have been from the many sconced candles and torches. Backing away slowly, I noted with regret the look of sadness and stress on my king's face, but continued my retreat. Guards were unaware of my passing as I walked between them, taking a right turn towards my room. 

The door opened silently, for which I was grateful, as Iolo's room was nearby and so was Dupre's. Entering, I quietly closed the door and looked around, finding it in the same condition as I'd left it. Opening my pack, I plundered my drawers and chests for reagents, clothes and anything else. Sweeping my gaze over my tabletop, I stopped dead. A dagger lay on the table. Of course, I remembered how I'd come to own it. It had been plunged into my side, after all, but that's not what caught my memory. The dagger was a precise, miniature copy of the Sword of Chaos, with glass beads as imitation diamonds. I picked it up slowly, staring, wondering how I'd failed to notice it before. 

All at once, a wave of nausea hit me and I could see colours again, the potion's effects having run its course. The dagger wasn't black, but a dark grey. The hilt was wooden...but the shape was exact, even to the hollow in the crosshilt where the Jewel would have fit. 

I chewed my lip and put the weapon down. A few more things I crammed into my pack, one of which was the red Virtue Stone - the only one left in my room. It had been overlooked, buried as it had been under a pile of books. I had no idea to where it was marked, but I knew it no longer led to its original mark in Jhelom. Then I picked out reagents and cast Invisibility. Leaving my room, I dodged guards and castle staff, heading towards the prison. The guard room was open and congested with warriors. As I weaved between them, snatches of conversation told me most were confused, half anticipated some sort of war - probably with the gargoyles, and a few predicted the return of Mondain. 

Geoffrey's second in command wasn't doing well in his attempts to calm them down. 

No one noticed any shoving as I moved through to the jail. Once in, I peered into each small room. They were all empty. There was always a chance that Lord British had moved the boy, but...I squinted, trying to make out a grey shape on the stone floor of a cell. 

A Fellowship medallion. 

Looking both ways, I made sure no guards were nearby and cast telekinesis. The amulet lifted and flew to my hand, but remained visible. I turned it over and saw runes etched into its surface. They read, 'Too easy.' 

Mentally replacing the medallion where I'd found it, I silently left and returned to the throneroom. It was empty save for the honour guard, so I went to Lord British's room and snuck in. 

It too was empty, but I wasn't looking for people. On his table lay two black stones - two orbs. I touched each one with invisible fingers. One was warm with the after-effects of summoning a moongate. I took it, hoped it would still work, then left the room. 

Back in the throneroom, I watched curiously as Lord British, Nystul, Iolo and six guards almost ran from the western passage towards the eastern. 

"Someone cast a spell there!" Nystul was saying animatedly. "Now the prisons!" 

I walked further into the room and blinked, for two of the guards were staring at me. 

"Look!" one shouted. "My lords!" 

I glanced around in desperation. I was still invisible... 

Lord British, Nystul and Iolo came back into view, all three looking where I stood. 

"Elora, wait!" Iolo shouted. 

Then it struck me. The orb of the moons was visible! 

Guards closed in and I held out the orb, concentrated, then willed as many moongates into being as I could, thereby surrounding myself with red doors. The doors wavered crazily and thin lines of bright lightning lanced across their crimson surfaces. Even as I watched, one of the gates collapsed and I was forced to raise another. They didn't look very safe. I clenched my hand around the orb and felt it growing colder by the second. 

"Avatar!" I heard Lord British call. "What art thou doing?" 

I put the orb on the floor then removed my Ankh, laying it beside it. "I'm going away for a while," I called, giving up the pretense of invisibility. "My lord, I need time to myself. I need to think and I need to be alone." 

"May we not speak first?" 

"Rest easy, milord," I said. "I am no enemy of thine nor of Britannia." 

"I never doubted it," the monarch replied, his voice nearer. "But what has happened?" 

"Talk to Captain Johne. I told him everything. Or wait until Iolo composes the ballad," I added, amused. 

With a hint of reproach, "Elora..." 

"Please, my lord. I'm going and _don't_ follow. I beg thee, don't look for me unless thy need is urgent." 

"How will we find thee?" 

"I'll be around," I answered, retrieving the Virtue Stone and some reagents. "Britannia still needs protecting." 

I cast Recall. 

***

"Thy pardon, milady." 

The man hoisted his bundle of wood across his shoulders again and continued to walk on his way east, as I travelled west. Around me, the gigantic Yew trees of the Deep Forest rustled in the breeze, their broad branches reaching up to embrace the noon sky. The air was fresh and clean, carrying scents of the forest and the promise of clear weather. 

Since leaving the Castle of Lord British, my basically aimless wanderings had taken me almost everywhere. Verity Isle, Serpent's Hold, Minoc and Vespar, Dagger Isle, Terfin...even Skara Brae. 

Few recognised me unless I told them my identity. I supposed I looked very different without my armour and without my friends. I shook off my pensive mood, thinking. 

The encounter with Mariah at the Lycaeum had almost seen me discovered, as had the run-in with the warrioress Syria at Jhelom. As far as I knew, only three people knew of me as I was now. Penumbra had been particularly helpful in providing me with advice and magical equipment. Draxinusom of the gargoyles, once I'd shared my news with him, had been more than willing to supply me with more mundane gear and anything else I required. 

"The child was the link between our races," the ancient gargoyle had said. "Has it been severed, do you think?" 

"No," I had replied in his own tongue. "Never that. Just weakened." 

"But how can the breach be repaired? Some humans will never accept us." 

I hadn't denied that humans more than gargoyles were the main problem. "To be afraid only time and work will build the bridge you need." 

"You said Umdelor had a journal?" 

"Yes, but he wrote it in Britannian runes. I'll translate it for you and send it here, if that meets with your approval?" 

"We thank you again, friend Avatar." 

"To only wish I could do more, prilem Draxinusom." 

I shifted the hunting bow on my shoulder and considered the other one. Horance, ex-liche lord had recognised me instantly. It had something to do with spiritual auras, he had said. Mine was evidently distinct. My stay in Skara Brae had been a long one as the ghost actually remembered the presence of Mondain. More, he could glimpse parts of Mondain's shady past. Our conversations had lasted many, many nights. 

Now I traveled to visit Nicodemus, the mage of Empath Abbey. If I walked a bit faster, I might even make it that day. 

An arrow struck the ground before me and I halted. Travelling alone certainly had disadvantages. Hostile encounters had been numerous since I had very limited means of magical travel available. Traversing Britannia's roads had been an education - two of the lessons had almost ended up with me failing. 

"Drop thy weapons!" 

Rolling my eyes in boredom, I lay down my unstrung bow and quiver of arrows. Unsheathing the Blacksword, I stuck it point down in the dirt. A couple of guarded whistles of admiration could be heard at the sight of the weapon. 

"Daggers too, milady." 

Only one was visible, so I tugged it from my belt and sent it to the road with a flick of my wrist. 

Two leather-clad men approached from the trees, one holding a shortsword, the other a spiked mace, so I guessed the archer had a bead on me from some unseen position. At least three bandits. The two came on cautiously, for though I was only a woman, that I was under arms suggested that I knew how to use them - however badly. Women were generally held in higher regard here than on Earth, but they were still only women. 

I tried not to smirk. 

"Take her weapons," someone called. "Then take her." 

"Dead or alive?" shouted the swordsman. 

"Whichever the lady prefers." 

This remark brought several laughs. My face clear of expression, I counted and guessed six bandits total. 

"Careful, Mace, that one looks like a fighter," said one of the two. 

"I know what I'm doing, Dirk," the maceman retorted. 

"What's this?" I asked, letting amusement show. 

"Thou hast been waylaid by the Arsenal, milady," said the one called Mace with a courtly bow. "Wilt thou come quietly or shall I let Longbow shoot thee down?" 

That suggested only a single archer, but I wasn't willing to bet my life on that. "What?" I replied, an evil smile crossing my face. "Thou art incapable of taking one defenceless girl alive?" 

Mace bristled. 

"Hey, Mace, this sword won't let me pick it up!" 

Two more men appeared and I noted one wearing chain mail and a sabre, the other in leather and holding a two-handed hammer. 

"Sabre, this thing is magical!" 

A fifth and sixth man climbed down from trees then faced me, bow and crossbow ready to fire. 

My arms were suddenly grabbed roughly and pinned behind my back by a seventh man I hadn't seen. As my backpack was pulled off me, I ground my teeth and waited patiently. "How's this think work?" said Dirk, holding a firewand. The thing suddenly discharged, sending a fireball into his face. The man screamed as he flew several feet down the road, convulsed, then lay still. 

Mace swore. "That bitch killed him!" 

The archers tensed. 

"I did nothing! It's no fault of mine he's never seen a firewand!" 

"Sorcerous bitch," the hammer man spat. 

"Wait up, boys," Sabre said. "Hammer, get those magic shackles and put them on her. We can still have our fun and get her to show us that sword's powers without danger." 

I almost laughed. Anti-magic chains? Someone had really ripped off these fools. I hoped. 

While we waited, Longbow stood with his fellows and took my arrows and spare bowstrings. Sabre forbade anyone to look through my pack - Dirk's partially burned body as the warning. 

"She seems strong enough," observed the man holding me from behind. "How long dost thou think she'll last?" 

Mace laughed harshly. "Not long enough if thou dost get first go!" 

The wait drew longer. 

"Where by Hythloth _is_ he?" muttered Sabre. 

I began to wonder the same thing. 

Sabre looked hungrily at the Blacksword. "How's this thing work, wench?" 

"Well, I can show thee if thou dost let me go." 

He snorted. "Sure." 

Innocently, I said, "Thick-skulled, aren't they, Arcadion?" 

"I am forced to agree, Master," the blade replied. 

"Shades and daemons!" Mace blurted, jumping back with bulging eyes. 

"No, just a daemon," I corrected smoothly. "But he's such a _nice_ daemon!" 

Arcadion made a noise somewhat like an ironic snort. 

"Don't be modest," I murmured with a grin. 

"This is degrading." 

Barely suppressing open laughter through the act of biting hard on my tongue, I pretended the tears that formed in my eyes were because I was upset. "Thou dost not appreciate me!" I whimpered. 

The bandits blinked in confusion as I pulled free of my captor and caressed the glowing jewel in the Blacksword. Sabre waved away the man who had been holding me. 

Arcadion said, "What a revolting development." 

"Don't be stupid," I hissed softly, irritated. 

"Yes...dear," the sword drawled. 

I pulled him free. "Arcadion is very useful," I told the bandits. "Watch, he helps me start fires." Pointing the blade in the direction of Mace, Longbow and Sabre, I said, "Fire, please." 

"Since you asked so nicely..." the daemon sniffed, though I detected he was enjoying the sham. 

A thin trail of flames snaked along the ground towards the men, bypassing dry leaves and grass in some way. Finally, it reached their feet and stopped. 

"Hardly useful," Sabre managed in a disappointed voice. 

I shrugged. "It is if thou dost intend to do some cooking." 

The flames exploded. 

I threw myself forward over the fire to separate myself from the man behind me and ducked low, dropping Arcadion and drawing a dagger from each boot. Screams and shouts sounded over the crackling flames as I peered through the hot curtain, seeking targets. Balancing a dagger, I threw and heard a gurgling cry. Something zipped past my ear and I hurled the second dagger, then grabbed Arcadion and crawled for the cover of the trees. 

"Good work," I muttered. 

"Hardly worthy of my powers," the daemon said reproachfully. 

Some minutes later, the fire sputtered out and vanished. I counted the six bodies then retrieved my gear, sparing a sigh for my bow and arrows which had been incinerated. Three of the corpses were still smouldering and I felt sick at the sight, so I quickly quit the scene, turned west and bumped into someone. 

"Shamino!" I blurted, almost going limp with relief. 

His eyes widened. "Elora..!" 

I backed away and tried to calm down as he simply stared at me. 

"If thou hadst not run into me and spoken my name, I know now it I'd have recognized thee!" he declared. He looked at Arcadion's hilt, which peeked over my right shoulder. "Then again..." 

I gestured at the bodies behind me. "Bandits. One got away." 

Shamino patted his Juggernaut hammer. "No, he didn't." He appraised the carnage as I grinned. "Thy prowess is truly amazing." 

"I got lucky. What art thou doing here?" 

"So formal?" he asked curiously. He saw my slight frown and hastily said, "I was going to visit the emps. Lord British sent me to find out more about them." 

I nodded and we both stood silently for a few minutes. I uncertain, he wary. 

Suddenly my eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Shamino," I whispered. 

He hesitantly stepped forward and embraced me. "There is nothing to forgive." 

"There is," I argued, laying my hand on his shoulder and holding him fast. 

"Then I forgive thee," he said simply. 

I sighed. "Thank you, my friend. It means a lot to me." I pulled away and smiled at him. "What's up at the moment?" I asked. 

The curious expression on his face turned to an answering smile. "Lord British has managed to take over all the Fellowship Halls and reassert the law. The gargoyles recently opened new communications to us from Terfin and Lord Draxinusom visited the Castle for a time. We had Umdelor's funeral and entombed him in the mountains in the gargish tradition." He paused. "We returned the Mystic arms and armour to Hythloth - Geoffrey was really put out at thee for escaping like that!" 

I laughed. "I almost didn't." 

Shamino went on, "Then...um...there was a search...for thee." 

"I asked him not to do that." 

"He didn't. I assume thou meanest our liege?" I nodded. "He did nothing to help - or hinder - it. Geoffrey directed the search." 

"Well, now you've found me." My eyes narrowed. "So?" 

"When art thou coming back?" he asked. 

"When there is need. And that is not now." 

The ranger sighed. "Very well. What should I say?" 

"To the emps? Nothing." 

He chuckled. "As thou wishest. I shall absent myself from court for a few months. Who will find me, anyway?" 

I offered to walk east with him for a while and thanked him for his discretion and company. There were certainly disadvantages to travelling alone. 

***

'_The similarities between gargoyles and daemons appear to extend further than the superficial_.' I dipped my quill into an inkwell and put it to parchment again. '_Once, Arcadion mentioned "the Dark Realm," a metaphoric term for "fear." After reading the journal of Umdelor, it is apparent that this term was known to him also_.' 

I sat back in my chair and said to the Blacksword, "Remember when the Guardian said I walked more deeply in Fear than ever before?" 

"Of course. He was right." 

I re-inked the quill. "And now?" 

"You will always walk in fear, Avatar. You always did and always will." 

"But I destroyed my fear, didn't I? 

The sword glowed. "You of all people should know that Courage is not the absence of Fear, but the overcoming of it. As fear increases, so must your courage." 

I sighed and wrote that down, then added, '_You have to appreciate the irony of the fact that I'm getting instruction on Courage from the Daemon of Cowardice_.' 

The small house that had been my home for several months now nestled next to the Serpent Spine mountains. A narrow pass lay a day's walk east which opened passage south to the Castle. The cottage had been abandoned and slightly run down so hadn't been short of chores. 

The time alone had done me good, I thought. It had given me the opportunity to evaluate my thoughts and come to grips with the past. 

I rubbed a hand over my face and capped the inkwell. "Time for some air, I think," I said, picking up the Blacksword. 

Once outside, I locked the door - I was quite pleased with myself that I'd managed to find the key - and walked towards the small lake I used as a water supply. In the sunlight, the ripples glittered and blurred the reflection of the forest. I sat on a small rise near the lake and closed my eyes, enjoying the warmth and the sounds of birds and insects. 

"Times like these, I wish I had a camera," I confided to my daemonic companion. 

"Whatever you say," he replied. 

I smoothed my green skirts and looked around. "Yes, definitely a panorama." 

A deafening roar from the west made me turn that way and blink in amazement. A flight of five dragons soared across the sky, blackly silhouetted against the blueness, but close enough that I could see sunlight play off coloured scales. Crimson, emerald, golden, black and bronze. I watched them in open admiration, thinking of the dragon Umdelor had written of. Now that I looked at the astounding beauty of these creatures, I knew I'd never think of them as monsters again. 

I followed their course to the eastern horizon before my eye was caught by a red glow on the other side of the lake. I lowered my sight to look at it. 

"Moongate," I whispered, not moving. I stared at the scarlet door for what seemed an eternity, knowing to the very depths of my being that it led home. 

Stumbling to my feet, I dashed headlong down the slope and around the waters edge. 

"_Wait_!" I shouted desperately as I reached a stand of trees. One struck my shoulder as I ran past, almost dislocating it. I stopped, panting, and gripped the slender trunk, the pain making me see things with crystal clarity. 

_"I would not return to Earth unless I knew Britannia was safe."_

My own words. I sank to my knees, watching as the gate sank with me, and wondered if the Guardian would have let me enter. Although he had not spoken to me since I'd defeated him, this was proof enough that he was still around. 

I grimly waited until the moongate was fully closed, then stood, rubbing my shoulder. The glimmer of hope that had flared in my heart went out. Looking up at the sky, I whispered, "This is far from over, Guardian." 

Then I turned and walked back to my house. 

***

"I fail to see how it works!" I stated. 

"Magic binds us, magic can separate us," Arcadion replied blithely. "How did you feel riding as far as halfway to the pass without me?" 

"Insecure," I snapped, knowing it wasn't the answer he wanted. "Very well." I sat down. "I can't explain it. I couldn't go any further. Nothing was stopping me, I just...couldn't go any further!" 

"Any emotions?" 

"Aside from irritation? No. I _just couldn't_! The horse stopped and refused to keep going to I dismounted and tried to walk. I just couldn't go any further without you." 

"How touching. Well, at least you know the limit of the binding now." 

My reply was interrupted by a knocking on the door. I called, "Who is it?" 

"Royal messenger! I bear a letter for the lady Elora!" 

I cracked the door open enough to see a young man in the garb of Lord British's couriers. Opening it wider, I demanded, "How didst thou knowest where I live?" 

"I'm sorry, milady, but I don't. I'm just here to give this to thee." He held out a scroll sealed with silver wax bearing the king's serpent insignia. 

I took it. "Thank thee. Um...wilt thou be staying?" 

"No, milady. I must be away. Good day to thee." 

"Fare thee well." 

The boy walked over to the foothills, mounted a grey, valorian horse and cantered off to the west. 

I shut the door and shook my head. "How did he find me? Not even Shamino knew about this place." 

"Maybe the moongate last week?" suggested Arcadion. 

I grunted. "Possibly. Well, anyway..." I broke the seal and slid off the blue ribbon, then unrolled the scroll and sat down. 

The first words made me smile with genuine affection. 

'_Dear Avatar, I hope this letter finds thee in good health..._' 

***

I whooped with pure excitement as my horse plunged through the field, scattering small animals. The wind whipped back my hair and the force of it made it seem like I was going even faster. 

"I fail to see what's so exciting," Arcadion noted. 

"It's almost a full year since I blew up the Guardian's Black Gate," I replied. "Lord British is planning this big celebration!" 

"In your honor, no doubt," the daemon said dryly. 

"Well..." I began, somewhat immodestly. "Yeah, I guess so!" 

"I despise parties." 

"That's no problem. _you're_ not invited." 

"Now wait just a minute..." 

I laughed. 

The ground angled up and my horse slowed down. I'd found him wandering the lake's edge and since he was already wearing a saddle, it had been a simple matter of catching him to claim ownership. If catching a horse was ever simple, that it. 

Atop the ridge, I reined in and looked over the view of Castle Britannia perched on the edge of Britanny Bay and surrounded by the city of Britain. Down at the city's border, I saw a familiar figure standing with an honour guard. 

My horse reared up and I drew the Blacksword, waving it in a wild salute that Dupre returned, sunlight reflecting brightly off his polished blade. 

With an elated smile, I rode towards him. 

***


	4. Epilogue

**

The Dark Realm

**

_Epilogue_

by Shadow of Light Dragon, aka Laura Campbell

The celebration was in full swing. Bright buntings decorated the castle and fresh arrangements of flowers could be seen in every vase. Tapestries and decorative arms had been cleaned and the very stones of the fortress seemed to glow in the occasion. 

The Great Hall was filled with guests, chiefly the nobility, but that didn't extend to some of my companions. 

"How goes it?" Katrina asked me. 

"Oh, fine," I replied, taking a sip of wine. "So far the most common joke has been, 'Greetings, Avatar! Thanks again for saving our pathetic lives!'" 

The shepherdess laughed. "In so many words?" 

I grinned and confessed, "No, I guess not." 

She slapped my shoulder. "Just remember, my friend, they mean every word of thanks." She smiled. "And so do I." 

I thanked her and moved on, greeting guests and chatting with friends. Finally, the circuit took me back to the main table. A woman who was fawning over Lord British had taken my seat, so I stood nearby and noticed, belatedly to be sure, that he wore his magical Crown. 

"Now where did I leave that?" I asked him. "I forgot all about it!" 

The king grimaced. "Geoffrey found it on the shore of the Isle of the Avatar." 

I groaned. "Sorry about that." 

He laughed. "Never mind! All's well that ends well." 

Dupre stood and held up his tankard. "My lords and ladies, please! A toast!" 

The crowd quieted save for those who made a hasty dash for the drinks table. 

"A toast!" the knight repeated. "To Elora, Avatar of Britannia and quite literally our saviour." 

"_AVATAR_!" the throng roared enthusiastically, downing their drinks. I raised my own glass with a grin and drank to my own health. 

Refilling, I called out for quiet. "I thank you all. Separated from my own world, I can't imagine a better home than Britannia. But, there are those I particularly wish to honor, for it was not without help that I defeated the Guardian. The noble Sir Dupre, Iolo the bard, Squire Spark..." I called their names as I saw their faces and each stood in turn, beaming. At last, I stopped and asked Dupre, "Where's Shamino?" 

"Messengers were sent but none could find him. He hasn't been seen since Lord British dispatched him to the Deep Forest with the emps." 

He said this as I was taking a drink to wet my dry throat and I went into a fit of choking laughter. When he gave me a strange look, I lifted my glass again and said, "And to absent friends!" 

As the toast was drunk, Dupre added, "He'd probably with Amber," which sent me into another spluttering round of laughter. 

***

Evening wore on into night and the Hall gradually emptied as rumours circulated about fireworks to be provided by Lord British himself. One by one, they took the king's leave and hurried into the city to find good vantage spots from which to enjoy the show. 

"I guess it's time," Lord British said at last. "I'll go to my tower and start some magic." He winked. 

Laughing, I said, "I'll be watching!" 

"I certainly hope so! Thou art the guest of honor!" So saying, he left the Hall with Dupre and Iolo flanking him. 

I sighed and drained my glass. 

"Ah, Elora, what ails thee?" 

I greeted Julia. "I was just thinking that if I have any more alcohol, I'll be suffering a massive hangover tomorrow." I smiled. "Seriously, I was thinking that life can't get much better than this." Waving a hand around, I said, "I'm surrounded by friends and people I love, people who love me..." Julia smiled at that. "Next to Earth, Britannia is my home." 

She gripped my arm briefly, then said, "Quickly, if thou dost miss Lord British's skyshow, he'll never forgive thee!" 

"I'll watch from the battlements." 

"Save me a spot, I'll be along soon." 

I strode through the central garden and took the stairs near my chamber to stand on the west wall of the Castle. Only a few people were up here as the fireworks would be directly above the castle and not many were willing to endure the neck-strains that would be caused by watching from the walls. I noticed Mayor Patterson of Britain, Nelson of Moonglow...my lips pursed thoughtfully when I saw Feridwyn of Paws. 

Shaking my head, I looked up at a night sky ablaze with stars. Constellations caught my eyes and I absently marked my favorites. Ring of Compassion, Tome of Honesty, Sword of Valor, Goblet of Honor, Flame of Sacrifice, Scales of Justice, Staff of Humility...as I reached the Ankh of Spirituality, it was surrounded by golden spots of light so that it truly looked like a complete Ankh. 

The fireworks had begun. 

"What have I missed?" asked a breathless Julia. 

I pointed, then the skyshow got underway. 

***

I stood alone, the early morning air crisp and cold as stars faded and the sky grew lighter. Castle, city, land...Britannia in peace. 

"I almost caught thee in Trinsic," Geoffrey said from behind me. He leaned on the rampant. "If not for thy magic." 

I smiled slightly. "Refresh my memory." 

The commander snorted with amusement. "I know thou dost enjoy having thy conquests retold, Elora. Get Iolo to recite it to thee." He looked me over. "Where's that great, bloody sword of thine?" 

I pointed down at the silent town. "He's there somewhere. I left him at an Inn." 

"Is that wise?" 

"No one can take him and short of magic travel, I can't go anywhere without him. He'll be fine. Besides, he hates parties." 

Geoffrey regarded me thoughtfully. "Thou seemest more at peace than when we last spoke a year ago." 

I gave him a smile. "That's because I am at peace, old friend. Last night you could fine me pointing out planets I thought could be Earth. Last year, I doubted it still existed." A satisfied sigh escaped my lips. "Much has changed since then. Me, most of all." 

"For the better?" 

"Yes. For the better." I looked at the fading stars again. "Night gives way to golden Dawn," I murmured softly. "In the light we are reborn. While shadows may enshroud the land, within Infinity we'll stand." 

Quietly, Geoffrey moved away. "I will see thee later," he said softly. 

I smiled again and glanced up at a fluttering serpent banner. "I'm not going anywhere." 

***

I waited, not tired, only wishing to watch the sunrise. I supposed it was a silly thing to stay up all night only to watch something that would pass in a few minutes. 

"Then call me a sentimental fool," I murmured with a faint smile. 

I now stood on the eastern side of the Castle. The sky was growing imperceptibly lighter and I had a small headache, but ignored the discomfort. Shifting, I let my chin sink to my arms and fixed my eyes on the horizon above the distant mountains, anticipating that first break of sunlight which burns in one's memory for days. 

A few small clouds scudded above me and I hoped no more would be forthcoming, though I smelt a storm brewing. There were just enough to catch the pink and orange highlights of dawn without spoiling it. 

For some reason, I had the feeling I wasn't alone. I spared a second to look around, then returned my gaze to the east with a shrug. 

"Or are _you_ sharing the vista with me, Guardian?" I whispered. "Watch as Britannia witnesses another morning!" 

Right on cue, the sun rose, a single piercing, golden shaft of light. It bathed the land in brilliance where moments ago, it had been drenched in darkness. 

Smiling serenely, I regarded the rainbow-hued sky lanced with rays of sunshine. Standing tall, I braced both hands on the firm stone of Castle Britannia, took a deep breath of contentment, then settled in to watch the golden-edged clouds gather. 

  
  


***__


	5. Acknowledgments

**Acknowledgements:**

Everyone in the Ultima team at Origin. What can I say to you people except "Thanks for making the best games with the best themes!" I hope this paltry story doesn't diminish Ultima's brilliant shine in any way. 

The Ultima Dragons, particularly: 

Blackthorn (current proprieter of Dragon Press),  
Erraticus (former proprieter of Dragon Press),  
FlameBlight,  
Goldenflame (especially for the use of his name 'Tir Mordreth'),  
Monomolecular,  
Nightfire,  
Replicant,  
Shodan,  
StormCloud,  
Sulphur

and

Avatar673@aol.com aka Bob

Also,

Danielle, Glenn, Link, Anthony, Catherine and everyone else who proceeded to annoy me during the creation of this volume...then followed up by conning me into including them in the acknowledgements as providing "Inspiration". :) 

My thanks to all of you.

Sincerely, Shadow of Light Drakan, aka Laura Campbell.


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